


Why Do You Care For Me

by cafesanslait



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Retelling, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hannor, Hopeful Ending, Kind of? Until It's Not, M/M, Memory Loss, Mixed POV, Mutual Pining, Suicidal Thoughts, hankcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 04:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafesanslait/pseuds/cafesanslait
Summary: Landing in the Detroit Police Department was one of the best things that could have happened to Connor upon his reactivation, and the man ultimately responsible for his apparent deviation all the more better.But what Connor finds is that fate is often unkind, cruel to a degree that forces all the good things, especially Hank, to be ripped away and forgotten just as easily as they came. This only leads Connor and Hank to struggle on their own, awful reminders to one another of the things they lost, and how much they wish they could have it all back.





	Why Do You Care For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, pals! 
> 
> I am super late to the party with this, but what's better than being late than being Fashionably Late with an almost 50,000 word fic? This is a monster, and I had contemplated posting it in chapters, but I know myself and my own busy schedule and I never would have finished it so here it is in its entirety! I started it in January and it feels Amazing to post something after a literal almost four year hiatus from this site. 
> 
> What can I say, this game got me good. 
> 
> Anyways, if you're reading even this I am incredibly thankful and if you choose to continue, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Unclench that jaw, roll those shoulders, take a sip of water, and let's get this show on the road, folks.

Blue flickered to yellow, the LED spinning its color until it reached a fluorescent, dangerous red. 

Connor’s eyelashes fluttered as he reached up to his chest. His hands came off covered in his own thirium. He collapsed then, landing on his knees without flinching. He kept his hands close to the wound, looking down and watching blue seep out. 

Around him, commotion erupted. Cops rushed onto the rooftop, guns aimed and ready, but there was no need. The deviant was lying dead on the concrete pavement stories and stories below, cracked and destroyed in its own pool of blue blood. 

The little girl was safe, immediately being scooped up by a paramedic and rushed away. She was sobbing still, but obviously grateful to still be alive. Connor could swear he heard her say thank you as she was pulled away and into the house, the curtains on the inside flapping wildly as the door remained open and she disappeared from his view. 

The helicopter was still hovering above them, displacing the pool water and making Connor’s hair whip into dishevelment, a far cry from its usual stiff hold. It didn’t quite matter though, it was the least of his worries. 

Warnings were shooting off like nerve endings inside of his head of bicomponent damages. He’d been shot point blank in the chest reaching for the little girl and pushing Daniel off the roof, but obviously not fast enough to not sustain any damage. There wasn’t regret, he had done what he was set out to do, but maybe perhaps a bit of reworking would need to be done to ensure personal damage wouldn’t occur again. 

Not that it mattered at the moment, he knew he was shutting down and his memory would be uploaded into a new RK800. Perhaps it would be a beneficial note to remember for the next Connor if it wasn’t lost in the reupload. 

He could almost pinpoint a brief feeling of panic at the understanding of his soon upcoming shut down, but that wasn’t right. He’d never felt panic before, but something rang cold inside of him that he couldn’t properly place. 

The feeling was fleeting as everything within him slowly shut down and he froze. Hands stayed up near his chest, and his eyes remained open, staring off over the edge of the rooftop. 

_ Mission Successful.  _

***

“Hello, my name is Connor and I am the android sent by CyberLife."

“For fuck’s sake.” 

People in the bar kept throwing glances up at the shiny new android standing next to an angry, disheveled, well on his way to shit-faced, Hank. Androids weren’t even allowed in the bar in the first place, but that didn’t stop this one from coming in anyway, apparently. Besides, the other customers didn’t have an air of decorum to not stare at what was happening and he cursed them all for it. In fact, he wanted to curse at and swing at the android that had caused the looks in the first place. 

Maybe not swing at, but cursing he could most certainly do. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Hank didn’t bother turning to look, instead he downed the rest of his drink. He tapped on the bar and the bartender obliged, pouring more golden whisky to the top. 

Hank didn’t need to look to know that the android was looking at him expectantly, stiff and at attention. He was hoping to waste the rest of the night away on his favorite barstool and eat as much greasy, artery clogging food as he pleased, but Fowler had other ideas, of course. He scowled and took another swig. 

“I was sent here to find you, Lieutenant Anderson. I have been put on this case to assist you.” 

“Why would I need assistance?” 

“Well, for starters you seem to be inebriated. At the rate you’re going, there is a high probability that you couldn’t even make it home alone without an incident.” He looked almost smug as he said it, as if androids could be smug. They apparently could be sarcastic. 

The bartender had the audacity to choke down a laugh, but tried to play it off as just a cough. Hank scowled even deeper. Even the way the android spoke was infruitating, the know-it-all attitude paired with a ridiculous voice and an equally as ridiculous looking face. The feet of his barstool screeched against the worn down and beer stained wood floors.

Connor was suddenly lifted up and off the ground by the collar. His LED flashed yellow then spun back to blue as he looked down at Hank. He looked angry, eyebrows deeply furrowed and his lips snarled. While there was anger, the probability of being actually harmed by Hank was at a considerably low percentage. He kept his arms at his sides, almost ragdoll, as he let Hank hold him up. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me, you plastic prick? 

“I said-”

“That was a rhetorical question, you fucking jackass.” Connor’s feet returned to the ground and he fixed his collar, smoothing it out.

Hank grabbed his glass from the counter and finished it off, keeping eye contact. He put it back down on the bar and took in a deep breath. 

“You’re not gonna leave me alone, are ya?” 

“No, Lieutenant. I am under direct orders to acquire you and bring you to the crime scene.”

“Crime scene, huh?” He rubbed his hands down his tired face. It was etched with the wear of years of field police work, scruffy with a greyed beard and framed by hair of the same color. Shaking his head, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out a few bills and threw them onto the counter and gave the bartender a nod that was swiftly returned. 

He turned and walked out the door, not bothering to check if the android would follow him. He figured it would. They always did, like some sort of overly attached dog.

Connor watched after him for a few seconds before straightening his tie and following him out the door and into the night.

***

The air reeked of decaying flesh, the smell pungent enough to waft out the front door and onto the lawn. Reporters kept their distance, some occasionally catching the smell from where they stood and looking vaguely nauseated. It was obvious the body had been there for over a week, maggots wriggling around and gnawing at the greyed flesh. 

Connor walked around carefully, under instruction to not touch anything, and he obliged, only reconstructing what he could find and processing the dried blood on the knife much to Hank’s protestations. He did his job seamlessly, piecing together what he found to be an obvious puzzle: victim attacked his android, android retaliated violently due to severe emotional and physical trauma, stabbing the victim twenty-eight times, android is deviant if the scrawlings and apparent religious offering in the bathroom were anything to go by. 

What was especially intriguing though were the bloodied words above the victim. The letters were perfectly drawn, CyberLife font that graphically read, “ _I Am Alive_.” Connor stared at them, an eye almost twitching. He reached out a hand, no intention to collect a sample, but instead traced each letter methodically with his fingers. It was as though he was under a trance, infauctated by the words and their sentiment. They felt all too familiar. 

He snapped out of it just as Hank called him over to figure out their next moves. 

The only thing now was to find the missing deviant and Connor knew that he was still around, hiding out somewhere. It wasn’t long to figure out the attic was the most likely place and he ascended despite Hank’s grumblings of tampering with a chair in the kitchen. 

Connor carefully walked through the attic space, on guard to catch what he knew was up there. From the corner, he spotted the tell-tale sign of a circular red light. The deviant exposed itself before Connor could get to it, in his space and obviously terrified. 

“I was just defending myself. He was going to kill me.” 

“Don’t tell them.” The deviant reached forward and grabbed Connor’s arm. It was only there for a second before Connor ripped it away, but in the few seconds something entered his brain.

He felt it. The fear. The panic. This awful numb sensation deep within himself that had no foundation anywhere in his programming. 

Was it his own? Or was it this android’s? 

It felt too familiar for comfort and it made him pause for a few seconds as the other android watched him with pleading eyes. It was as though Connor was in the deviant’s place, horrible memories of trauma and anger budding into this foreign feeling. He looked at the android and took in the dried human blood splattered on its face, the strange healed divots scattered across its forehead, the burn marks on its arms, and just the look on its face that begged to be spared. 

It was begging for mercy. 

Connor felt as though he understood. He wanted to give it, to let it leave and pretend he never saw, but the feeling was squashed down just as quickly as it spread through him. Sympathy for deviants wasn’t part of his design. He was meant to catch them, not let them go. Doing otherwise would be an obvious flaw in his system that would need to be eradicated. 

He took a step backwards. All of his programming overriding whatever it was that just entered his head, as though it was never there in the first place. 

“The deviant is up here!” he called out.

He could hear Hank let out, “ _ Holy shit,”  _ as other officers began their move up into the attic.

Connor looked at the deviant and almost felt guilty. He watched as the deviant resigned itself to its fate. Its shoulders slumped and the LED continued to blink red. It looked sad, but not shocked that the pleading hadn’t worked. There was no humanity in the other android, but it should have figured that. 

Part of Connor wanted to reach out, try to console, but he didn’t. He kept his hands to his side as his fingers closed into a tight fist and let the officers swarm the attic.

***

It was raining as the car pulled up across the street from a human owned fast food joint. The fluorescent neon sign above the open window establishment read ‘Chicken Feed.’ Hank left the car without a word and jogged across the wet street, careful of any incoming cars. Connor had already proven that he would follow even if he was told not to. There wasn’t a point in ordering him around.

With that, Hank was unhappily unaccompanied by Connor, wherein he usually enjoyed a post-case meal alone, he now had unwanted company. He didn’t bother hiding his frown, but Connor was annoyingly persistent and continued to ask questions or bring up topics of conversation. That seemed to be the word for him that described him the best: persistent. Perhaps ‘out of touch’ suited him as well in the way he was overly eager, youthful in his appearance, yet far too intelligent for his own good. A walking talking supercomputer with incredibly uncanny human features. It would be entirely remarkable if it wasn’t partially chilling. 

Connor was like every rookie he had ever seen enter the force, bright eyed and bushy tailed, their enthusiasm squashed down just as quickly as they came by the realities of their work. Part of Hank would hate to see that happen to Connor, but he quickly realized that androids were created the way they are, eagerness and all. They had a mission to accomplish and that was their entire purpose. There was no squashing that, he figured. That was probably for the best. 

“Do you now want to discuss the information I’ve acquired about deviants?”

“I’m all ears.” Hank took a large bite of his burger, sincere in his response. Out of everything they had spoken about yet, this was the most interesting and the most pertinent. He was almost grateful for the change of topic that had nothing to do with him.

“From what I’ve gathered, we believe that a mutation has occurred within deviants that has lead them to act unpredictably.  Androids don’t really feel emotions, but-” 

“Do you feel anything, Connor?” Hank interjected, leaning forward on his elbows, his burger held in between his hands as he looked at Connor with scrutiny. Grease dripped down his fingers and onto the cardboard box the burger was given to him in.

For the first time, it felt like Connor was the one being analyzed, not the other way around. It felt more like an accusation than an actual question. 

Connor paused, taken aback by the interruption. His LED spun to yellow for a split second before cycling back to blue. Hank watched, curious at the change, but chose to ignore it. He took another bite. 

“Androids don’t feel, Lieutenant. It’s not part of our programming. We can only emulate what humans feel if need be, but we don’t actually feel them like you do. It’s all code, repeating patterned ones and zeros.” 

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if  _ you _ feel emotions. Anything abnormal clanging around in that plastic all-knowing head of yours?” Hank took a long sip of his drink. It made a slurping sound indicating it was close to empty. 

Connor kept his eyes trained on the cup instead of looking at Hank. Everything in his body was screaming about an imminent software instability and he was trying his best to ignore it, ignore this question especially. But he found himself wanting to be honest to a man that seemed sincerely curious, albeit defensive and mildly aggressive, about androids.

“Back at Ortiz’s house, when I found the deviant, it grabbed my arm and for a few moments I was in its place. I understood the trauma and the pain, the effects of what Ortiz had done. I felt panic.” He didn’t know how else to explain it. He knew by all means, androids couldn’t truly feel fear or pain, but it was the closest he’d ever gotten to feeling those things. There just weren’t other words for it. 

“It was strange, as though I had felt something similar before. As though I knew, even for a second, what fear was. If I were human, it felt as though I could empathize with it. The fear of being shut down.”

Connor finally looked up and saw that Hank was watching him intensely, as if he were the only interesting thing around. It was strange, the amount of new attention. Somehow though, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. 

He broke the silence first. “Why do you ask, Lieutenant? Are you worried I may be at risk of deviancy?”

Hank took a final sip of his drink before setting it down and leaning back. His hands gripped the edge of the plastic rounded table. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with them. “No, I was just wondering. Trying to make sense of you.” 

Connor nodded. “Of course. Well, if you have anymore questions, please feel free to ask. Understanding one another will help our investigation run more smoothly.” 

He took a step back, hands clasped behind him tightly. “If you need anything else, I’ll be waiting in the car. Enjoy the rest of your meal, Lieutenant.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked to the car, unbothered by the rain.

Hank watched after him, curious, and if he was being honest with himself, intrigued. 

***

Fowler had chewed Hank’s ear off for longer than appreciated the second he walked into the station. The snickering from Reed’s desk didn’t go unnoticed as Hank flipped him off without looking as he did his best to not stomp his way up the steps to the glass office. 

The conversation boiled down to the fact that Hank was in charge of the deviancy cases, and at that, had the android from the night before as a new partner. 

Hank didn’t do partners, learned long ago that he worked better alone with no one bogging him down with unnecessary chatter or trying to form friendships that just wouldn’t happen. Keeping people at an arm’s length worked for Hank.

He had acquaintances, Fowler, Collins, and Wilson were the closest to that, but even that was questionable, he had his bottles of alcohol, he had his favorite bar, he had his ups and downs, but those were no one’s business except his own. 

Most importantly, he had a system, and god damn it did that system  _ work.  _ But Fowler didn’t seem to agree, and neither did the creepy fucks up at CyberLife. 

Now, at his desk, Hank grasped his tablet far harder than necessary. The words on the screen blurred into white nothing as his brain didn’t care to process was what written on the newest case files that landed on his lap concerning the deviancy spreading across Detroit that quite honestly didn’t concern him.

Frankly, it didn’t seem like his division. He was a homicide detective, and nowhere in his job description did it entail that he get stuck with an uptight android having an apparent identity crisis fresh out of CyberLife’s doors.

Now that was an entirely different thing in itself. 

The conversation that they had the day before had been interesting to say the least. Hank hadn’t expected such openness to a question he more so asked to try to press Connor’s buttons. There was intrigue in riling the android up, but then there was sincerity he hadn’t expected and because he wasn’t prepared, he left it at that. 

His brain came up with hundreds of questions afterwards though as he stood in the chill night air finishing his meal, staring off at his car across the street as Connor sat in the passenger’s side with his eyes closed. 

It was funny, in its own weird way. 

He was more  _ human _ than he expected and it caught him off guard, as though for a few seconds he could forget the spinning LED and his own prejudice against androids that Fowler seemed to also forget when assigning him these new cases. 

It left quite an impression, and not one he could shake. 

As if right on cue, the android in question walked in. People at their desks did very little to conceal their confused glances and mutterings at the new shiny android that looked nothing like the other police androids lined up against the wall with their blank stares and rigid postures. This one had a misplaced curl brushing against his forehead, hands that pulled at jacket sleeves as though there was actually anything to fix, and dark eyes that scanned the entire bullpen until they settled on Hank. 

Even the way he walked was different, the way he held his head high and sauntered across the room until he stopped in front of Hank’s desk. Like he knew his worth and purpose, and wasn’t going to let anything or anyone get in the way of that. 

“Hello, Lieutenant.” 

Connor looked expectant, hands clasped behind his back. Hank’s eyes fell on the ridiculous blue blinking triangle on his jacket, numbers, undoubtedly his identification code, underneath. CyberLife definitely didn’t pull punches when it came to making sure people knew an android when they saw one.

“As I’m sure you’re already aware, we’ve officially been assigned as partners for the deviancy cases.”

“Oh, trust me. I am fully  _ aware. _ ” Hank pulled his eyes away from Connor’s jacket and shook the tablet in his hand as physical proof. 

“You seem disgruntled by the fact. I apologize if my presence here causes you any discomfort, Lieutenant.” He was earnest, big eyes framed by downturned eyebrows. It was convincing, meant to disarm Hank from his less than welcoming state, pull him into a false sense of security. An attempt to form some sense of friendship or camaraderie. All of it was programming, probably. 

The day before circled back into Hank’s brain, Connor’s sincerity, his openness. The far off look in his eyes that gave away too much far too quickly.  Hank pushed the thought out of his head. 

Right, just programming. 

“You don’t make me uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not angry about the fact that I was put on this in the fucking first place. I am the least qualified detective in the entire state to be working on cases about androids, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Actually, Lieutenant, under much review by CyberLife, you are the perfect candidate. With a more than impressive solved case record, as well as the red ice cases you single handedly spearheaded, there is no doubt that-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. I had glory days, doesn’t everyone,” Hank said. “The only difference is that mine are so far behind me they might as well be ancient history.” 

Connor moved to speak again, likely to try to correct Hank, but was cut off by a sudden commotion down the hall. There was yelling, choked screams for back up. The sounds of glass breaking following the yells pulled Hank out of his seat first, running down the hall with his weapon drawn.

Connor was in front of him in the blink of an eye, no weapon in tow, but willing regardless. The android rounded the corner first, and Hank went to follow quickly, but was grabbed before he could. A body was shielding him, never letting him step foot into the hall near the glass holding cells. 

Simultaneously, two shots were fired, loudly popping off and lodging themselves into the dark wall parallel to the hall opening. It only took Hank a second to realize that the bullets would have hit him easily, probably fatally, if he was still on his trajectory course. 

Before he could say anything, Hank’s gun was pulled from his hand and another shot was easily fired and then there was silence, cut just with Hank’s own breathing. Connor let go of him, handing Hank back his gun without a word before stepping into the hallway. 

Hank calmed his breath and followed after, holstering his gun and joining the small group of people that had also made their way. 

He saw the officer that must have yelled first, a sizeable shard of glass lodged into the side of his arm that would definitely need a series of stitches to close up, but he seemed fine regardless, if anything, shaken. He was already being taken care of, another officer applying pressure to the wound and directing orders so Hank moved his eyes elsewhere, following the broken glass until he saw the worst of it, now soaking with spilled blue blood.

In the middle of it, the Ortiz android was staring up at the ceiling on its back, a bullet hole at the center of its head, the source of the spreading blood. The gun that was shot was dropped nearby and Connor was beside it all, carefully analyzing the scene.

Hank shouldered his way to Connor, squatting beside him silently. In the brighter fluorescent lights of the station, he could see the extent of the wounds on the deviant, how terrible the burn marks and the open mechanics of its arms that showed wires that no longer glowed.

Hank looked up at Connor who was barely shrouding the slight annoyance etched into his face. “This android was the perfect opportunity to find out more about deviants and now it’s just gone.” 

“It’s alright, we’ll get it next time. Happens to the best of us.” Hank wasn’t exactly sure how to comfort an android, if androids actually needed comfort, but the words seemed to placate him for a moment as Connor stood. Hank followed suit, taking a step back to get off of the broken glass, but Connor seemed less bothered by the cracking shards underneath his feet.

Reed walked over then, looking down at the android with disgust evident on his face. He seemed more put off by android’s general existence than he did about the injured officer and commotion. 

“Fucking tin cans.” Reed scoffed and walked away just as quickly as he came. It seemed more like he wanted an excuse to be an asshole than he did anything else. He went out of his way to shoulder check Connor as he did, sneering in the way that Hank had seen him times and times before to the other precinct androids. 

Hank had never stepped in then, but felt a need to step in now. He almost reached out and pulled Reed back by the jacket collar to give him a piece of his mind, but he refrained best as he could. 

From the night before, what Hank also hadn’t forgotten was the way Reed had pulled a gun on Connor in the interrogation room. It hadn’t been an empty threat, and Hank knew that, only to pull his own gun out and take aim square between Reed’s eyes. His own threat, legitimate or not, was enough to disarm Reed, and that was good enough in itself.

Hank turned back to Connor, wanted to apologize for Reed, but saw the look on his face and the spinning yellow LED instead and the apology died on his tongue. Instead, he said, “You mentioned that you thought you… felt something when you found this android.”

Connor pulled his gaze away from the deviant and looked at Hank, eyebrows still pulled down, but nodded, not offering more than that. 

“Who knows, maybe you actually did?” Hank glanced down one more time, the pool of blue blood finally stopped in an uneven circle, but the android’s eyes stayed open, lifeless, frightening if he stared for too long. He swallowed and turned back to Connor. “He certainly felt something, maybe more bad than he deserved to.”

Connor didn’t have a response to that either, opening his mouth for a moment before closing it again. His LED still spun yellow. 

Hank moved to walk away, but stopped. “Thanks, by the way.” 

He watched Connor slightly tilt his head, a questioning gesture. “For saving my life before.” 

“You had a 0% chance of surviving if I didn’t stop you. It was the logical course of action, Lieutenant.” Connor’s LED finally settled back down to blue, finding comfort in numbers and direct order.

“Yeah, well,” Hank said, ending it at that. He wasn’t good at thanking people, wasn’t good at a lot of things, he could admit. He shrugged and walked off, leaving Connor to finish whatever analysis or other android nonsense he had to. 

Once he was far away enough and out of Connor’s sight, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. Whatever any of this was, the beating against his chest that hadn’t stopped since the shots were fired, the line of sadness and fear that spiked through him whenever he decided to look at the dead android, the unwarranted piece of advice he gave Connor, he pushed it down, just as he did everything else in his life. 

There weren’t a lot of things Hank Anderson was good at, but pretending everything was fine was definitely one of the things he was best at. 

This wasn’t going to be the exception. 

***

“Connor, it’s so good to see you.”

Connor opened his eyes and found himself in the Zen Garden, standing before Amanda. The roses behind her bloomed, vibrant red petals that were reminiscent of well taken care of plants. Birds chirped in the distance, their voices carried by the light breeze that tousled the leaves on the green trees and grass. The air was warm, comfortable. 

He smiled, a stiff upturn of his lips. 

“Hello, Amanda.” 

“How are things at the precinct?”

“The incident yesterday afternoon seemed to put some officers on edge, but otherwise I am assimilating well.”

She hummed and turned back to her roses. “What do you think of Lieutenant Anderson?”

Connor paused. 

He found Lieutenant Anderson interesting, amicable even. He hadn’t expected it after their rough first meeting. The man seemed less than inclined to associate when Connor had found him in the bar, his alcohol levels far too high for a weekday evening, but he hadn’t pressed the matter. 

The investigation afterwards was debatably successful, relatively enough, even if Connor had failed to acquire a confession. He hadn’t wanted to press then either, watching the stress levels of the Ortiz android slowly ticking up as he forced them to. There was a final straw, and he didn’t want to pull it. 

He didn’t want to admit that it partially had to do with the ghost of feelings that still swirled in his head. It wasn’t pleasant, and a part of him didn’t want to push the deviant to feeling that way again, confession or not. 

However, it seemed that whatever had happened was enough to push the android on its own. He also hadn’t thought twice when he grabbed Hank and held him against his body as a shield when the man seemed dead set on running into the deviant. The reconstruction of what could happen was enough to cause a slight rise of panic, but it had subsided just as quickly as it came and hid itself once Hank was properly safe. 

That wasn’t something he felt inclined to tell Amanda. 

“I find him to be slightly challenging, but at times agreeable if he wants to be.” 

“You saved his life yesterday which resulted in the deactivation of that deviant.” Her tone switched to one much harsher, but still levelly polite. She wasn’t going to raise her voice at him, but her disapproval was evident. 

“Lieutenant Anderson was in harm’s way. He would have potentially died if I allowed him to get shot.” 

“We might not get another chance at getting information from a deviant. I hope you made the right choice, Connor.” She didn’t turn back around as she spoke, and Connor was glad for it. The disapproval in her voice was enough, he didn’t need the look on her face as well. 

“I believe I did.

In fact, he was positive of it. He recalled the reconstruction, the way Hank’s head has snapped back as a bullet entered his skull, the other pushing his shoulder roughly back as his body crumpled to the ground. 

He remembered the blood. 

Too much of it. 

Even in the pixelated reconstruction, it was graphic, chilling even. He didn’t let the thought linger any longer. 

Amanda turned then, her face perfectly neutral. “Your job is to stop the spread of deviancy. Do not let anyone, including Lieutenant Anderson, get in the way of that. You do what you must. Understood?”

Connor blinked, but slowly nodded his head, carefully schooling his face to be the same neutrality. “Understood, Amanda.” 

*** 

 

The investigation seemed to be going nowhere. There was little luck in figuring out what exactly was creating the malfunction in deviant’s programming and why it seemed to be spreading so drastically across other androids. 

There were whispers of rA9, but it was nothing more than just whispers. They had come across scrawlings of the phrase in the cases they had been assigned, but nothing was clicking just yet. It seemed like it was a thing that was being worshipped, written over and over again as though each deviant was possessed by a need to have the letters surrounding them. A sort of comfort. Perhaps even a prophet.

Connor didn’t quite get it, but every time he looked at or touched the letters carved into a wall or written with fresh ink, he could close his eyes and feel how franatic the deviant felt etching the phrase. It was like something caught in his system, fighting to get out, but it didn’t know where to go or how to get there.

He was trying not to dwell on it too hard. 

The automated cab stopped in front of Hank’s home, the lights inside on and his car parked outside. He was right to assume he would be there, especially considering that he had gone to the bars he knew Hank frequented, even drove passed Chicken Feed, but the man was nowhere to be found. 

He got out into the cold night air. The temperature had dropped substantially since the sun had gone down, his sensors indicating that there was a chance of snow in the middle of the night. He’d never seen snow before, he briefly wondered what it would be like, if he’d like it at all. Even more so, he wondered if Hank liked the snow. He seemed like the type of man that enjoyed the cold more than the heat. 

Up the front pathway, Connor walked to the door, allowing himself to ponder that internal question. The shades of the windows were shut, not letting Connor see in to ensure Hank was actually inside and awake. He rang the doorbell, letting it buzz for a few seconds. There was no answer. 

Concerned, he walked towards the back of the house and peered in through one of the windows that wasn’t covered with blinds. From what he could see, Hank was inside, but unconscious on the floor of the kitchen. A singular objective popped up:  _ SAVE HANK. _

Immediately panicked, Connor bashed the window with his elbow and jumped through, ungracefully landing with a thud amongst the broken glass. 

One hundred and forty pounds of hair and limbs approached him immediately, the smell of grass and wet permeating into his sensors as the dog got far too close for comfort in his face upon entry. 

“Good dog.” Connor reached a hand out and the dog snipped if questioningly, finding nothing of interest. Its collar jingled, an aged bone shaped tag that read “Sumo” hanging off. 

“Sumo, right? I’m here to save your owner.” Sumo gave him a long look before becoming disinterested, opening his mouth to yawn and going back to his section of floor to go back to sleep.

Connor stood up, the glass crunching beneath his shoes that did nothing to stir Hank awake. He approached him, leaning down and scanning Hank and everything around him. Thankfully, there was still a heartbeat, albeit a slightly irregular one, but a heartbeat nonetheless. The gun in particular made him uneasy, the singular bullet inside the chamber next to be shot if Hank hadn’t passed out. He picked it up and pocketed it, planning on keeping it away from Hank until further notice. 

“Lieutenant?” Connor lightly tapped the side of his face, hoping it would wake him up, but it did nothing. He tried again, much harder, too hard in fact. On impact, Hank woke up, shocked. 

“What the fuck?” He began grumbling, a hand going up to his cheek in surprise. 

“I apologize, Lieutenant, but I had to wake you up for your own good.” Connor began to help him up despite Hank’s aggressive protests, cursing at him to leave him be. He didn’t listen, instead lifting him up relatively easily. Hank did little to help, instead trying to become dead weight as he was pulled to the couch and sat down against the cushions.

He actually welcomed the soft comfort, stopping his angry words as he let his head fall backwards onto the back of the seat, closing his eyes. The world was less blurry that way. 

Connor left and came back in what seemed like less than a second, placing a glass of cold water into Hank’s hand. He opened his eyes at the sudden new weight in his palm, lifting his head to see what it was. His nose crinkled.

“I don’t want this.” He tried to hand it back to Connor, but the liquid sloshed over the edge instead, wetting a patch on his pants. 

“You have to drink it, Lieutenant. It’ll help sober you up.” Connor gently pushed the hand back into Hank’s direction, lifting it slightly from the bottom to encourage him to take a sip. Hank complied, squinting in annoyance at Connor over the rim of the glass. 

He didn’t want to admit that the gulp of water actually felt nice as it settled in his otherwise turning stomach. “I don’t want to be sober.” 

“I worry about your health, Lieutenant. I’m just trying to be helpful.” 

Hank groaned. “Why won’t anyone just leave me alone to die, huh?”

“That would be irresponsible if I did that. If I am in a position to help you when I know you need it, it would be unkind to leave you in this way.” Connor felt uneasy again, remembering the gun that he took from the floor. The singular bullet inside of it. It felt far heavier in his pocket than it should have. 

“People would be better off if I just kicked the bucket. It’s not like anyone cares anyways.” Hank let his head go backwards once again, his chin jutting up into the air, his jawline sharp that way. 

“I care, Hank.” He moved to reach out with one hand, to press it to Hank’s jaw, to somehow ground him. To maybe help in some way with just a touch of a hand against warm skin. His fingers twitched at his side, wanting so badly to do it. 

_ Warning: Error.  _

_ Software Instability.  _

That was strange. 

Shocked at the sudden error message, Connor kept his hand to himself, unsure as to why the message appeared in the first place. Despite everything that was happening to him internally, that had never popped up before. He shrugged it off, removing the message from his view. He’d have to remember to run a self-diagnostic later. 

“What did you just call me?” Hank’s eyes opened back up, his head lolling back forward to be able to look at Connor. 

Connor stared for a few seconds, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what he meant, but then realized. It was an involuntary slip of a name. “Hank. I called you Hank. That is your name, isn’t it?” 

Connor hadn’t called him Hank before. It had always seemed too overly familiar for the android. Being called Lieutenant was standard procedure, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a pang in his chest when he heard his own name in that way.  It sounded so sincere, so worried, so weirdly fond. He couldn’t remember the last time he could describe someone speaking him in a way that was  _ fond. _ His drink addled brain erupted into sparks that sent warmth through every inch of his body just because he heard his name come out of Connor’s mouth. 

He felt his face turn a shade of red he hoped Connor wouldn’t notice. 

“I’ve never heard you say that before. Didn’t know you could be anything other than a cordial asshole.” 

Had he really been that insufferable up until that point? “It won’t happen again, Lieutenant.”

Hank wanted to take back what he said and say it differently. He hadn’t meant for it to come across annoyed or defensive or however Connor had read his words. He went to clarify, but he was sidetracked by the sudden wave of intense nausea that crashed over him. The world began to spin.

“Oh,  _ fuck.  _ I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

He was pulled up and out of the chair not even a second after he finished speaking. 

Through the living room and into bathroom, Hank made it to the toilet, retching up all the whiskey he drank. It burnt up his throat and through his nose, coughing as he tried to clear it all. He was a sorry sight, and he knew it. He would be more embarrassed if he were more coherent. 

Connor knelt down beside him, making sure he was alright. He wasn’t sure what came over him, but he found his hand on Hank’s back, rubbing small circles as he whispered calmly, reassuring that he wasn’t going to leave him alone. “You’ll be alright, I promise. Whatever it takes.” 

S̴o̵f̸t̸w̶a̸r̷e̶ ̸I̶n̵s̴t̶a̴b̸i̵l̵i̷t̷y̶

He shooed the notification away. It wasn’t a problem for right now, whatever it was. Instead, he focused on Hank, and only Hank. 

For whatever reason, it felt right.

*** 

Sunlight streamed in through the window, far too bright for a November day. The air seemed still, the outside quiet on the weekend morning. Hank groaned as he turned over onto his back, the sun hitting his eyes and instantly making his headache worse. His mouth felt like cotton as he opened it and closed it a few times. 

He felt like complete shit. 

He let his head loll to the side, trying to find his phone on his nightstand. The phone wasn’t there, but instead, he saw a glass full of water and two pain killers beside them. That was strange. He knew drunk him never had the foresight to do something like that. He sat up carefully and downed the two pills, grateful to have something to help his dry mouth and pounding head.

The night before started to come back in bits and pieces. 

He remembered downing shots of whiskey, taking out Cole’s picture from the drawer he usually kept it in during the day when he just couldn’t face looking at it, and then loading a single bullet into his pistol and spinning the chamber, letting it click-click-click.

He had hoped a bullet would pierce through his skull, finally ending the pain that had embedded itself so deep within him, but he had no such luck. He had passed out on the kitchen floor, pathetic. The sadness deep within his bones.

Then, he had been hit awake after what had only seemed like a few seconds of blackness. A figure had loomed above him, haloed by the fluorescents of his kitchen. It had almost seemed angelic, maybe he had succeeded and didn’t even notice. But, of course, if he had succeeded he wouldn’t have been greeted by an angel. He expected the depths of hell if it existed, cursed fire and raging pain. 

The figure had pulled him up, strong hands moving him with ease and then before he knew it, he was in the bathroom painfully retching up everything he had inside of him. 

Connor.

The figure had been Connor.

He groaned again, the burning feeling of embarrassment rising up and through him as he realized what Connor must have saw and what he must have figured out just by the contents in the kitchen. He didn’t want anyone seeing him that way. Though, it did explain the water and pills. A caring gesture, but Hank figured it was also engrained in Connor to help humans as he was designed to do, even if that human was beyond anyone’s or anything’s help. He didn’t want to get too caught up in the implication of something so simple.

From the kitchen, he heard movement. Probably Connor, he thought. He had likely decided to stay the night on standby just in case Hank had tried anything again. Like an overly expensive, far too intelligent babysitter. 

A feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, he pulled himself out of bed, ready to face whatever conversation needed to be had. He knew Connor wouldn’t just let go of what he saw, how obvious it was that Hank was trying to kill himself last night, but couldn’t even succeed at that. 

He stretched, the release in his muscles entirely welcome. He grabbed a sweatshirt from his closet and pulled it over his t-shirt and boxers. He didn’t remember changing out of his work clothes when he got home, and he was certain he wouldn’t have been coherent enough to change into something completely different during the night by himself. 

He tried not to think too hard about what that implied.

At the doorknob, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. He opened the door and walked out into the hallway. He was greeted with the smell of bacon sizzling and fresh coffee brewing. 

Sumo was in the living room, paws up in the air fast asleep on his back. Something he only ever did when his stomach was freshly full. Connor must have fed him, then. He must have also gone to the grocery store because Hank was certain he didn’t have any bacon or coffee grounds in his house. In fact, he was more so the type of person that skipped breakfast entirely and only really ever ate take out.

He walked into the kitchen. Connor’s back was to him, busy at the stove. Beside him, a plate of sunny side up eggs with wisps of steam coming out of them that were then paired with three strips of bacon. 

Hank sat down at the table. It was now cleaned, devoid of the alcohol from last night. The gun was nowhere to be seen, neither was the picture. Hank knew Connor had taken the gun and hid it, but he wondered where he decided to put the photo. 

The window near the stove was good as new, but Hank distinctly remembered noticing shards of broken glass before he was dragged into the bathroom. Connor must have fixed that, too. 

Connor turned around then, not surprised to see Hank sitting there. He gave a small smile before setting down the plate in front of him with a set of utensils. 

“Good morning, Lieutenant."

Hank nodded, mildly confused at the sight before him. He looked down at the plate. The food looked amazing and his stomach grumbled. He hadn’t realized he was hungry, the painkillers taking their time to kick in, but still working. High fat foods would do wonders for his hangover, better than his usual just ‘wait it out until he can pull himself out of bed’ method. 

“Good morning.” 

He looked at the circular clock on the wall. It read 11:48. Still technically morning, then. At least there was that. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Like complete shit.” Connor placed down a mug of hot coffee beside the plate, filled to the top without any sugar or milk. Just how he liked it. He picked it up and drank a few good gulps first. It sat hot in his stomach, but he welcomed the warmth. His bare feet were cold on the linoleum floor, but he tried to ignore it.

“You should eat then.” Connor lifted his chin towards the plate. Hank obliged, lifting his fork and digging in. It was delicious. Simple, but he hadn’t had a home cooked meal for as long as he could remember. He was grateful for it. 

Connor had stepped back to stand closer to the counter, practically leaning against it. He watched Hank carefully, arms folded across his chest. He looked as though he wanted to say something. The LED spun its blue circles. It seemed as though he was going through different strategies to approach a subject that couldn’t just be ignored no matter how much Hank wanted to wish last night away. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, you know.” He stabbed at another piece of egg, breaking the momentary silence.

“If that is what makes you comfortable.” Connor was too calm, reserved in the way he spoke yet lax in the way he stood. It wasn’t helping to put Hank less on edge. 

Hank nodded, returning to his breakfast. It couldn’t be that easy.

“But, I still think it’s important to acknowledge some aspects of what happened.” 

He was right, it surely couldn’t be that easy. 

“And which aspects are those?”

“Why were you trying to kill yourself last night, Lieutenant?” 

There was something akin to softness about the way Connor asked it. His eyebrows were pulled together slightly, creating wrinkles in his otherwise perfect skin, peppered with freckles and moles. His lips were downturned at the edges. Hank wondered if Connor had mulled over what he saw for the rest of the night while he slept. If he had taken what he registered and analyzed it while fixing the window and making breakfast, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to make that human connection as to why Hank would ever want to do such a thing. 

“I would think with all the top notch nuts and bolts inside of that head of yours you would be able to put two and two together and figure that one out.” 

It looked as though Connor wanted to correct Hank in his assumption of what made up his head, but he stopped himself, taking the sarcasm in stride. “I thought it would be important to ask you directly instead of assuming that I knew what you were thinking.” 

“Yeah, well, your assumption was right.” 

“There was a picture of a young boy on the table. The frame was in good condition, no dust or anything of the sort, like it hasn’t been hung up in awhile. I put it back in a drawer that was open in the living room.” Connor was careful with his next question, knowing full well an overstep was entirely possible to cause Hank to revert, draw back. “Was that your son?” 

“Can we not talk about this right now, please, Connor? I’m fucked up in the head, you can’t fix me over a plate of eggs and bacon.” Usually, Hank was quick to lash out at anyone who tried to talk about his son. It was a sore subject, not one he ever welcomed anyone to delve into. Here, however, he didn’t have any fight in him. Connor knew too much, there wouldn’t be a point to trying to shut him up, but he could at least divert.

“I’m not trying to fix you, I’m just trying to understand. I think you’re perfect the way you are, Lieutenant. Rough around the edges, sure, but perfect,” Connor said, his voice becoming softer. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.” 

Perfect? Hank had been called many things throughout his life, but perfect had never been one of them. It was always words far from it. No one had ever looked at him in this way, treated him in this way. He wasn’t that type of person that deserved to be treated well by life or by others, and he fully believed that. 

“If anyone is perfect here, Connor, you do realize it’s you, right?” Deflection was the only thing Hank knew how to do. Only that and quick and biting words. He fiddled with the fork in his hand. 

“I am far from that. I am a machine created by humans. I am still fallible.” 

“Being fallible doesn’t necessarily make you less than.”

“As does being emotionally hurt doesn’t make you unworthy of care, Lieutenant.” 

“The sooner you realize that I’m not worth all of this effort, the easier it’ll be.”

“Easier it’ll be for what?”

Easier when he finally got the courage to pull the trigger, Hank figured. However, it didn’t seem right to say that to Connor, not after what had happened the night before. He didn’t want to seem more like a lost cause capable of actually hurting himself than he already was. He didn’t want to seem like a burden. “Just… easier.”

“I don’t understand, Lieutenant.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” 

Connor raised a brow. 

“You’re allowed to call me Hank. Just Hank.” Hank could just barely remember himself saying something along the same lines the night before, or at least he had tried to.

An understanding nod and Connor smiled, “Alright, Hank.” 

“Thank you, by the way, for staying and for this.” He pointed to his practically finished plate. He felt slightly better, more functional than before. He was never good at saying thank you, but found that he was saying to more often to Connor in the weeks since he’d known him. It was the gratitude Connor wholeheartedly deserved. 

“Of course, it was my pleasure. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

“I think I will be.”

“If you ever find yourself in that sort of situation again, please don’t hesitate to call me, Hank.” 

Hank nodded before standing up and walking to the sink. He turned the water on, letting the warmth run over the dish despite Connor’s protestations to do it. Hank lightly shoved Connor’s hand away, glad to do even this by himself. Connor leaned against the counter, arms folded, just about as petulant as an android could be. 

In order to get that look off Connor’s face, Hank handed him the plate and a dry dish towel, of which he happily took. Hank watched him from the corner of his eye as he wiped down the counter. For the first time in his life, Hank genuinely considered receiving the help offered to him. It wouldn’t be easy, he might not even do it, but the consideration of doing so was at least a start.

Maybe one day he could learn that Connor was right, that maybe he did deserve it. 

***

Things went on relatively normally after that morning. They received tips on suspected deviant involved cases, they’d go check them out, go back to the office, write reports, once in awhile go out for a drink. Well, Hank would drink while Connor looked on, ensuring Hank was as stable as he could be, not allowing him to surpass a certain threshold of drunk, much to his own chagrin. However, Hank wouldn’t admit that being cared about was actually kind of nice. 

He appreciated Connor being there. He turned out to be nice company as they talked about Hank’s interests and answered whatever questions Connor had about the new things he was learning. It turned out to be his newfound favorite pastime. 

The only thing that slightly changed were the skips in his heart beat that Hank felt whenever Connor so much as looked in his direction. He wasn’t sure what it was, or where it had come from, but it hadn’t stopped since that day.

They had returned to Hank’s house after a case that went nowhere. It seemed more so like a bad tip than an actual deviant case. Just some strange noises and figures in an abandoned house that ended up just being squatters, nothing more. Hank had been slightly glad for it. It was a break from the type of work he seeing more often than not. 

They sat together on Hank’s couch, a movie put on as background noise, some future dystopian flick with bad acting and awful social commentary that wasn’t fully fleshed out enough to be considered worthwhile. Hank remembered years prior to androids being publically used, they were just productions of fiction. Things to fear if they were to ever disobey their programming. In some sense, people weren’t that far off, but for better or for worse, Hank wasn’t entirely sure yet. 

Connor was actually intrigued by the movie, his head slightly tilted as he watched people run through the streets, guns in hand, shooting at human shaped pieces of metal that shot back at them. “This isn’t a very good movie, is it?” 

“So you’ve noticed?” Hank took a swig from his beer, the only drink he was allowing himself for the night or else Connor would shoot him a withering look that he didn’t want to be on the other side of.

“It received low ratings after it premiered, but three more movies were made after. That doesn’t make sense, why waste money making something people don’t like?” 

“Because people go watch them anyways.”  Hank reached forward and grabbed a handful of popcorn, throwing a few kernels at a time into his mouth.

Connor’s face was confused. He looked as though he was trying to process the new information, but coming up short. Hank had seen him make that face a few times before, always flabbergasted at the kinds of things humans would do, but it never failed to be endearing in its own way. He tried not to stare too hard, grabbing another serving of popcorn as he went to take another swig of his drink. 

“That’s stupid,” was Connor’s final decision. 

Hank nearly choked on the lip of the beer bottle against his mouth, coughing to hide the sound. 

“Are you alright, Hank?” Connor’s LED spun to yellow, suddenly sitting up and at attention, ready to act if needed. Hank waved him off, trying to get him to calm down as he coughed into his sleeve, just barely containing the laughs that threatened to bubble up. 

“No, I’m good, I’m good.” He finished coughing, clearing his throat. 

“Did my opinion… offend you?” Connor seemed legitimately concerned, still sitting upright, hands at the edge of the couch cushion, ready to push up and off. 

“Oh my god, Connor, no. I agree with you, don’t worry.” Connor sat back, not quite believing Hank, but enough that his LED spun back to blue. “It was just funny.”

Connor frowned, still not obviously understanding. 

Hank wanted to laugh all over again, finding amusement in the barely hidden petulance on Connor’s face, but he decided to take pity instead. “I’ve never heard you call something stupid before. I didn’t know you could have that kind of opinion. It was just a really human thing to say is all. I might be rubbing off on you a bit too much.” 

“Oh,” was all Connor said, realizing that Hank was right. It wasn’t an ordinary response for an android to have to something, far too blunt and a touch crass by programming standards, but it had come out of his mouth without a second thought. Hank was rubbing off on him, but he didn’t consider that to be a negative thing, in fact, the opposite. 

Hank took Connor’s short answer with some worry. “You having a ‘human’ response to something isn’t a bad thing, that’s not what I meant. It’s actually really great, gives some home-grown personality to all that coding of yours.” He hoped joking a bit would dissipate the increasing silence from Connor, the far away look in his eye as he thought harder. 

It worked, cracking a small smile across Connor’s face that only served to make Hank’s heart beat a touch faster. He hoped Connor wasn’t constantly running one of those analysis checks or he would notice the sudden irregular heartbeat, and would surely bring it up. If he did, Hank was certain he wouldn’t have a proper answer for it. 

“I’m not sure if you’re the best person to be gaining personality traits from, Hank. I don’t think the precinct can handle one of you, let alone two,” Connor quipped back, an eyebrow raised and a cheeky smile on his face. 

“Alright, smart ass.” Hank threw a few kernels of popcorn in Connor’s direction, playful. They bounced off him, landing on his lap and a few on the floor. The sound of food hitting the ground roused Sumo from his nap in the corner of the room, his head perking up. Once he saw the popcorn, obviously free for grabs, he stood up and stretched, his nails clicking across the floor. He stopped beside Connor, licking up the popcorn and finishing off the floor before moving his giant, slobbery head to Connor’s lap and plopping it down, sniffing happily. 

Connor smiled down at him, not seeming to mind as he brought a hand up and petting down the top of Sumo’s head to behind his ears that earned him happy tail wags. Hank watched them, a soft smile on his own lips, allowing himself to take in what was in front of him. His heart beat a bit faster, warmth spreading through every inch of him as he looked on with fondness he was sure he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember. It would worry him if he wasn’t so enraptured. 

Much like everything else that was happening, Hank decided it would be best to not worry too hard about it. 

*** 

The software instabilities were beginning to become an issue, Connor realized. They were popping up more often than he could ignore, an almost consistent stream of messages that clouded his vision. 

There was one thing that seemed to be the common denominator and it was inarguably Hank. 

The man had a way of getting under his skin, sending sparks throughout him whenever he so much so was lucky enough to see him smile, even if that smile was just a quick quirk of the lips at something Connor said or did. The message always came up without fail. 

He had figured after he had gone to Hank’s house the night he found him unconscious that something was amiss inside of him. The first message had popped up then, right after he had told Hank that he cared about him. Generally, androids shouldn’t be able to care. Not in the same ways that humans could, it was something akin to it, but it was just programming, some form of caring mimicry. Yet, when he had told Hank, it hadn’t been that. He knew it for a fact. 

It felt real, authentic. 

He genuinely did care for Hank and it unsettled him to his core even thinking about something bad happening to him. It went as far back as saving his life from the Ortiz android, the panic that bubbled up inside of him that Hank could have died if he didn’t intervene.

Connor had replayed the memory from the night in Hank’s house hundreds of times, zooming in and studying Hank’s facial expressions. He was intriguing to watch, especially the pink that bloomed across his cheeks that he had tried to hide. Connor enjoyed watching his face flicker from annoyance to shock that someone could possibly care about him, even more so that that someone turned out to be an android. It seemed as though Hank couldn’t believe it, accentuated by his inebriated state. 

It made Connor want to ensure that Hank knew he had someone on his side, always. 

It’s what snowballed the instabilities, really. Connor allowed himself to start caring too much, far more than he should have ever allowed himself to. There was a danger in getting too close. After all, he was sent to the DPD to do a job. He had a task and was meant to accomplish it or he would face deactivation in order to be studied on why he had failed. Amanda had said as much, warning him that nothing was to come between him and his mission. And when that mission was over, he wouldn’t be allowed to stay. He didn’t want to let down Amanda, he especially didn’t want to get deactivated, but he couldn’t help himself.

He enjoyed the drinking nights with Hank, watching terrible movies with him, working within close proximity to him. Something in the back of his mind warned him that the software instabilities were pointing to something greater. He had seen it in every single case he accompanied Hank on. 

Instability meant deviancy. 

Especially at the accelerating rate, Connor was sure of it. He couldn’t deny it anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. If anything other than failing his mission would cause deactivation, it would be deviancy, and Connor was on the fast track to it. 

It terrified him, the prospect of losing everything, but it was deciding between two evils. He could ignore what was happening to him, pretend Hank didn’t make him feel a certain way, and continue on as he was with only the mission in mind. Or, he could acknowledge it, all of it, and risk being deactivated and reuploaded into another RK800 that had all his precious memories removed. Worst of all, he would lose Hank in almost every scenario.

He had run the potential situation in any way he could in order to figure out the likelihood of success, but the results were dismal at best. He would be found out easily, CyberLife immediately knowing something was wrong the second he went offline. They would come after him surely. He was too expensive, too important, and having an android with his caliber out there participating in the deviancy it was to stop would be corporate suicide. 

And where would that leave Hank? Alone again? Stuck at the bottom of bottles playing horrible games with a gun loaded with a single bullet that he hoped and wished would fire? Their friendship was proving to be beneficial for the man, and Connor feared that having it ripped away would leave Hank worse than he was when they met. 

But there was the percentage, miniscule as it was, that he could be happy. Could be more than he believed he could. And he could be that with Hank at his side. Hank could be happy too, and that’s all that Connor wanted above anything else. If Hank was happy, if Hank continued his small smiles and affectionate laughs and movie nights and quips and jokes, then whatever Connor needed to do was worth it. 

It hurt a bit to dwell on what couldn’t be, though. It wasn’t entirely beneficial to fill his own head with fantasies he shouldn’t even be allowed to have. 

Sat at his desk, Connor was reviewing the newest deviancy case file as he simultaneously pondered his newfound issue. Beside him, Hank was doing the same, sipping at his fourth coffee of the day. It wasn’t ideal, but Connor was glad it was coffee rather than anything else.

He seemed exhausted as he occasionally put down his tablet to rub at his eyes and sigh. It was fair considering they had been going at it for hours trying to find new leads, but coming up short. The case was a difficult one, and one that didn’t seem like there would be answers to anytime soon. The deviants across the city were disappearing at an alarming rate, but no one knew where they were going. It was unlikely that they were crossing the border in the steadily increasing numbers, but they had to be going somewhere, and it couldn’t be far. 

The deviant they were investigating was an AC900 model that had abandoned its owner the morning before, but what was peculiar was the statement the person had given. Apparently, the android had been muttering things before it disappeared, something about finding a certain place, but no names or locations were intelligible. It checked out with the scrawlings that had also been found underneath a carpet on the wood floor that all read rA9 over and over again. 

It was something, but also nothing at all. 

Connor turned to Hank, leaning forward onto his own desk. “Hank.”

Hank had his eyes shut as he held his head in his hands. This particular break was longer than the other short ones Connor had logged him taking. He didn’t seem keen on getting back to work, but he hummed a short response back. “Hm?” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m good. Just feel a headache coming on is all. These cases are starting to become a pain in my ass.” 

Connor put his terminal to sleep and reached over to Hank’s desk to do the same to his tablet. He stood and walked around to Hank’s chair, removing his jacket from the back of his seat. He offered it to him. “Maybe a short walk would be beneficial.” 

Hank opened his eyes to see his jacket being held in front of him then looked back up to Connor before conceding. It wouldn’t take a lot to convince him to take a proper break, unlike the short one minute rests he was taking. Fresh air would do him some good, maybe even clear his head. “Yeah, okay.”

Hank threw on his jacket and wrapped a scarf around his neck, a new addition to his wardrobe after Connor had continually bothered him about it being unwise to keep going outside in harsh Detroit weather without the proper clothes to do so. He didn’t want to have another detailed lecture about getting sick, so he had popped into the nearest store, bought the plainest scarf he could set his eyes on, and that was that. Connor hadn’t complained since. 

They walked outside together, the cold air welcome as they exited through the doors and onto the street. It was relatively slow for a weekday afternoon, most people already having gone out for their lunch breaks and back in their offices. They walked side by side in silence for a few blocks, enjoying the company. 

Connor broke the silence first, his mind still ticking away now that he didn’t have two simultaneous focuses. “Hank, may I ask you a question?” 

“You know you don’t have to preface every question with that, right? You can just ask.”

“Right, sorry.” Connor rubbed his hands together out of habit, a tick he had picked up somewhere, but now was becoming more consistent. He didn’t look at Hank as he asked,“What do you think of free will?” 

Hank blinked, the kind of question obviously unexpected. “Fucking hell, Connor. Are you having some sort of crisis?” 

“No, I was just curious. Androids are programmed to act in certain ways, so I thought it would be beneficial in furthering my understanding of humans to try to have a grip on what free will means to you. It might even help with the deviancy cases since deviants tend to perceive themselves as having some form of it.” 

“Well, even between humans the idea of free will is up in the air. Nobody knows shit for certain, we’re kinda just fucking around and pretending we do to make it out alive. People spend their whole fucking lives philosophizing that question, but never get to the bottom of it. If you feel something, if you feel in your heart of hearts that you wanna do something, then roll with it. You might as well.”

“But what if I, as an android, am not meant to ‘roll with it’?” What if by entertaining these things, I am just going against what I was programmed for?” Connor worried he was being too on the nose, bringing himself into the question, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Hank stopped in his tracks and looked at Connor. It was almost unreadable, but it seemed gentle, soft, as though there was more he wanted to say than he could or knew how to. They somehow made it to a nearby park without Connor noticing. It was quiet around them, most everyone else in the area keeping to themselves ways away. “Have you ever considered that you’re maybe more than your programming, Connor?” 

Connor was taken aback. Of course he had considered it, especially recently, but it had never been a viable thought. He couldn’t be more than what he was created to be, it just wasn’t possible for more reasons than one. Yet, Hank seemed so sure that he could be, as though it wasn’t debatable. Connor desperately wished he could share in that certainty.

“I don’t know more than my programming. I was given the means to everything I could ever need, but being able to make my own choices wasn’t something I was endowed with.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” Hank sat a bench they had stopped near, tall, barren trees on either side of it. Connor joined him as Hank leaned back, breathing out hot air that created a small cloud of its own. Connor watched it dissipate into nothing. “I mean, the fucks over at CyberLife are the smartest people on the planet or whatever, but I doubt they would know how make an android feel real emotions. You can’t create authenticity, it just is.”

He turned to Connor and looked him directly in the eye. “Any feelings you may have, that’s all you, Connor.” 

S̸͎̳̔̚ö̸͖́̈f̸̧̣̎̕t̸̖ẉ̵̉â̷̬r̴̜̐͜e̸̠͝ ̵͇͂I̶͔n̴̹̑s̴̢̭̓̿t̸̡͊ä̵̢̭̂b̵͉͙̍̌i̵̖̣͋l̴̺͍͒͝i̸͓̾t̴͉̞͗y̶̬͓̏

Connor blinked before swatting the notification away. “Doesn’t that go against what we’re trying to do right now, though? We’re trying to stop androids that supposedly have emotions, that believe they have autonomy. We’re taking on cases to stop deviancy, not encourage it.” 

“Maybe.” Hank paused, contemplating his next words carefully. He looked away. A light dusting of snow started to fall from the greying skies. Snowflakes landed on Hank’s hair and eyelashes, painting them a unique white. Connor’s fingers itched to reach out and brush them away. 

“The way I see it, you do have choices. You can decide to do what you want, when you want to, just like any human can. Don’t let your makers tell you otherwise.” 

Connor considered the fact that perhaps he had been making his own choices the entire time. It all went back to the beginning wherein he decided to save Hank, decided to stay with him until the next morning and talk to him. It was every time he sat with Hank in a bar and talked about things that didn’t pertain to the case. Leaving Hank on the kitchen floor wouldn’t have been detrimental to the mission, it would have been easy to leave him be and receive another partner to help him accomplish his task, but he didn’t. He created an objective and he went through with it because he felt, deep inside him, that he had to. 

“Thank you, Hank. This has been incredibly beneficial for me.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Hank took in a deep breath. “Who knows, maybe we’re the ones in the wrong, not the deviants. These cases have been getting harder and harder, but maybe that’s because I just don’t believe in stopping them anymore. Maybe we’re on the wrong side of all of this.” 

If Hank had confided that information with him weeks ago, it would have raised red flags, but now, he found himself agreeing. There was a chance that while they had been hunting deviants, they hadn’t considered that maybe they had the right to run in the first place.

“You think so?” 

Hank shrugged, non-committal, but Connor knew there was more there. He didn’t push it. “I don’t know jack shit about a lot of things, but I know injustice when I see it.”

Connor hummed a reply, unsure how to respond, his own mind reeling. Snow stuck to the backs of his hands, retaining their shape on contact, perfect little crystalline shapes. He committed them to memory before bringing his hands together, falling back on the tick he was beginning to connect with having nerves. 

“Here.” Hank unravelled his scarf and wrapped it around Connor, carefully placing it to cover his neck. His hands lingered on the fabric longer than they needed to. 

Connor watched him as he did so, the care being put into such a simple act. He realized that Hank must have taken the tick as an action of being cold. He was almost at a loss for words, but managed out, “I don’t get cold, Hank.” 

Hank shrugged again. He was looking at Connor up and down, as though trying to savor the image in front of him. Connor felt as though there wasn’t anything really there to commit to memory about himself. He tried not to fidget. 

Hank eventually let go of the scarf after a few seconds of silence. Connor found that he immediately missed the weight of his hands, wanted to grab them and put them back where they were, but restrained himself from doing so. 

Hank stuck his hands into his pockets. “Keep it anyways, it suits you.” He gave him a soft smile. “Plus, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” 

They stayed in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Connor could swear he saw something flicker in Hank’s eyes, something he couldn’t pinpoint, but it was gone before he could, as though it was never there. The silence broke. 

“C’mon. We should get back to the office before Fowler has an aneurysm about us being on break for too long.” He reached out and squeezed Connor’s knee before standing up himself. Every sensor in him exploded at the unexpected new contact. He was sure Hank had never purposefully touched him in that way before. Any contact Hank initiated had always been limited to strictly necessary and brief, never a deliberate touch that lingered longer than necessary almost directly on his skin.  

Hank started walking away, already expecting Connor to be following along as he always did, but Connor found himself unable to move for a few moments, as though every wire throughout his body was on fire as his sensors erupted, trying to process things they couldn’t fully understand yet.

S̵̡̏o̵͓̳͈͌̐f̷̪͘͝t̶͇͛̃͝w̷̼̩̳͙̿͌̽̆a̴̿̆̏ͅr̶̹̭̰̓̑͠ē̸̹̟ ̵̣͙̗͘Ḯ̸͓͖̍́ṋ̶̪̗̆͗s̷̖̠̚͝ͅt̸̤̫̲̦͆̍̄a̶͓͙̪̓͊b̴̛̤̫͚̓̌ỉ̶͖̐̕l̵̛̩̓͊i̸̩̜̹̖t̸̞̖̖̾͠ẙ̸̟̆̑

Connor took a handful of the scarf and brought it up to his face, burying his nose into the soft fabric and took a deep breath. It had only been Hank’s for a short period of time, but it smelled distinctly of him, information his brain stored away to keep safe. 

He felt desperate for more, more purposeful touches, more things that smelled of him, more smiles, more quiet moments, more shared time. More of just Hank. If he allowed himself to want, despite everything he knew androids couldn’t or weren’t allowed to do, it would be potentially facing every worst outcome he had calculated. 

But, it’s what Hank was talking about. He had a choice even if he didn’t believe it, even if he was never intended to. There was something in him that was more than he was created to be, and to ignore it, refuse to acknowledge his own budding sentience, to let it fester without an outlet, would be a disservice to himself. He could be so much more if he let himself be.

Connor had a choice, and it meant allowing himself to be in love with Hank. 

 

***

Hank wasn’t sure as to why he had given Connor his scarf like that, a small intimate gift that had no foundation within the conversation they were having prior. The cold air tickled at his neck as he walked back to the office, but he didn’t bother to pull his coat around his throat, too lost in his own thoughts. He brushed a hand through his hair, his palm coming off wet from the melted snowflakes. 

He was certain Connor wasn’t following close behind, in fact he was hoping for it. His heart was too loud in his ears, pushing hot blood through him that made the world around him seem a bit hazy, like he was floating on a cloud. 

It was actually kind of nice if he was being honest. It was bright and fiery, more feelings than he had allowed himself for a long while. 

He shook his head. 

No, he couldn’t possibly.

Sure, he was fond of Connor. Beyond fond if anyone looked too closely, but his feelings had to stop at  _ just  _ fond. There wasn’t room in his life or his relationships for anything more than casual acquaintance. But Connor had pushed himself forward to be more than just a casual acquaintance.

Somehow, he had bore a hole deep into Hank’s daily life, and if he was removed, it would be nearly unfillable. 

That was Connor’s job though, wasn’t it? He was sent to the DPD specifically to be Hank’s partner, and he had done a damn good job of being as perfect of a partner as possible. CyberLife had done well in that respect, Hank would gladly give them that. 

But Hank couldn’t help but remove all of it. The programming, the objectives, missions, and coding. All of it seemed impertinent. Connor was Connor, bright brown eyes, stupid floppy hair, pressed clothes, and crooked smile. He was struggling with himself, deeper than Hank could ever waver a guess at.

Yet, Hank somehow also understood at the most base level. He knew first hand how difficult it was to be human, to function properly, and to be what was expected of him. He’d fallen off the bandwagon more times than he could count, and more often than not, he struggled to get back on. While not completely similar, Connor was becoming more than Hank had pinned him for just within a couple of weeks. 

He was still stiff at times, awkward when he didn’t fully get a joke or quip, but was endearing all the same and Hank was helping him get a hang of it. Connor had a personality, he liked certain movies and music, and wrinkled his nose at the ones he didn’t. He sometimes got frustrated at cases and would lean back into his chair with exasperated sighs. 

He looked at Sumo with so much love and soft adoration that it made Hank’s heart hurt. Sometimes Connor would look at Hank in the same way, the same soft eyes and gentle smile. 

And wasn’t that just terrifying?

Hank walked back into the precinct, the warmth of the building welcome in defrosting his cold toes and fingers. The android receptionist unlocked the gate for him with a formal smile, one that he had pointedly been returning for the past few weeks now. 

Not even close to crossing the full length of the bullpen to his desk, Hank was accosted by Fowler as he stepped out of his office.  “Anderson!” 

“Where’s Connor?” Was the first thing Fowler said to him as Hank entered, which was fair, all things considered. It was less than likely nowadays that Connor wouldn’t closely be trailing behind Hank. If it were anyone else, it would be a nuisance, but Hank got used to Connor being so close. Hank felt that loss now that he was realizing Connor wasn’t beside him. 

“Nevermind, there he is.” Fowler directed his attention to the entrance, and sure enough, there Connor was, the scarf still wrapped delicately around his neck. He seemed lost in thought.

“Get him in here, too, will you? We’re running on borrowed time.” 

Hank complied, beckoning Connor in. He snapped out of whatever stupor he was deep inside, shifting his eyeline to Hank and smiling. It was one of the genuine smiles that made Hank’s heartbeat just a little bit faster. Connor quickly walked over, Hank closing the glass door behind him. 

“We’ve got a case at the university across town,” Fowler launched into his explanation before they both had a chance to settle in the seats across from his desk. He was a bit on edge, his irritation more prominent than usual. “One of the android professors, a PJ500, goes by Anthony, has stopped showing up to its lectures. Some of the other human professors and students were making note that it was starting to act strange a week or so back before it disappeared. Some people think that the head of the department has something to do with it.”

“Human?” Hank asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Fowler nodded. “She’s still been showing up to work since the android’s disappearance, so you both should go down there and start asking some questions.” 

Hank glanced over to Connor, his back as pin straight as it always was, at attention and listening and documenting every word that was being said. Probably formulating a plan of his own in the few seconds that it took to do so. He still hadn’t bothered to even unwrap the scarf, the fabric pooling comfortably around his neck. It would look ridiculous in such a warm setting if it’s wasn’t so endearing. It made him look softer, more human.

Hank looked back to Fowler.

“Get a move on, the both of you. I’ll send Connor the details and you can chat about them on the drive over.” 

They both stood, taking the dismissal. 

“Good luck.” 

***

The university was quiet, the day starting to edge on late enough that most students were already back in their dorms, or at the tail end of their afternoon classes. Some people scarcely pittered about, too engrossed in their own worlds to pay any attention to Hank and Connor as they walked to the building that the case file noted was where the head of the Philosophy Department’s office was. 

Delphine Minster was their person of interest, having worked at the university for almost fifteen years, and had lines and lines of prestige and published titles under her name. She was a pride of the university, one of the only department heads that was still human in all of Detroit. Most of those jobs usually went to androids, but some found that keeping a human in charge of an area such as philosophy was more conducive to the subject. Because, surely, what did androids know about complicated human questions or morality and the self? 

At least that was the train of thought when employing androids. Hank was starting to know otherwise. Connor was the shining example of that as he led the way to the building, his own quandaries undoubtedly spinning in his head, but his face made no note of that. Gone was the inquisitive, far off look on his face that he had had when they were in the park or when he had walked back into the bullpen on his own. 

They arrived at the building a few minutes later, the architecture much older than the rest of the buildings on the campus that sported sleek, modern designs. It felt aged with its browning bricks and domed windows, ivy cascading on some of its sides. Hank enjoyed the look of it. It had more personality and history than anything else across the entire university that only wanted to be as new and technologically advanced as everything else in the country. This building didn’t want to participate in that competition.

Hank briefly wondered if that was an aesthetic choice, or one implemented by Delphine on her own.

They walked in, Connor still leading the way as they climbed the stairs to the second floor and down the hall. It was empty in the building, as well, many offices on the floor shut for the day, office hours over. There were one or two with their doors still open, professors inside busy with their own work, not glancing up as Connor and Hank passed. 

Delphine’s office was at the end of the hall, her name plaque shiny beside the ajar door. Hank took lead, giving the door a quiet knock, but received no answer, only pushing the door slightly more open with the pressure. Hank turned to Connor and shrugged, receiving the same quizzical look back, so he pushed the door all the way open. 

The office was a mess, papers strewn haphazardly, books missing from shelves, if there had been any personal decorations, they were gone. It looked as though someone had rummaged through it, taking the things that were only necessary. Like someone was in a hurry to leave. 

Connor walked further in, and leafed through a few papers, brows drawn. “She was here, probably less than a few minutes ago,” he said, looking back up at Hank. His LED was spinning yellow, drawing up some sort of reconstruction. “She might not have been alone.” 

“Do you think she might still be close by?” 

“Potentially, yes.” 

Hank turned and walked out, popping into one of the offices that was still open. Inside, a professor, Dr. Andrew Gardner by the plaque beside his door, looked up when Hank tapped the wood with a slight knock. His glasses were sliding down his nose, but he pushed them up, one hand frozen with a pen hovering above paperwork. “May I help you?” 

“Sorry for bothering you, but have you seen Dr. Minter anytime soon by chance?”

“Uh, yeah, she was rushing out a minute or so ago.”

Connor was behind Hank, leaning over his shoulder.  “Was she with someone else?”

Dr. Gardner thought for a second before nodding. “Yeah, actually, they were both carrying boxes. She probably her way to her car out back, there’s a lot out there for professors only. She’s usually out of the office by this time of day.” 

“Perfect, thank you.” 

The professor nodded again before turning back to his work, instantly uncaring of their presence. Hank led the way this time, weaving down the stairs and out the back of the building to the lot. There were only a few other cars parked, the rest of the spaces vacant. 

Sure enough near the edge of the lot, there were Delphine and Anthony, finishing loading up the truck of her car with boxes. From where Hank stood, he could vaguely see a duffel bag in the truck, as well. They were trying to run away. 

Hank picked up his pace, Connor following wordlessly, quickly overtaking him in speed. As they got closer, Anthony turned and looked, panic instantly turning his LED red. He shut the trunk quickly, ushering Delphine to start moving to the passenger seat. Delphine was confused at first, but followed his gaze and spotted Hank and Connor, now only a few feet away. 

She joined the panic and pushed Anthony to get to the other side of the car, the force tripping him over his own feet as he rounded the nose and started pulling the door open.

“Detroit Police! Freeze!” Hank called out, unholstering his gun just in case. 

Connor sprinted, closing the last few feet between them and the other pair. He got to the door in a blink of an eye, and shut it before Anthony could get in. They started to scuffle, Anthony trying to get Connor out of the way, but he was immovable, easily beating him in strength, but Anthony was determined nonetheless as he went for Connor’s midsection. 

“Connor!” Hank yelled out, struck with worry. 

There was only a brief moment of shock as a fist collided with Connor’s stomach, but he recovered quickly, tackling the other android and pinning him down against the pavement. Anthony struggled against Connor’s grip, but didn’t seem to be trying to hurt him anymore, more so just trying to get out. 

Delphine scrambled out of the car and started tugging at Connor’s arms, using all her strength to help, but couldn’t. “Let go of him!” 

Hank figured he should help in some way, but he didn’t, not wanting to try to pull the woman off of Connor. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt her by doing so and didn’t want to escalate the situation, instead his gun stayed trained on the android, his finger nowhere near the trigger. 

“Please, we’re not hurting anyone,” Anthony said, his voice partially muffled as he face dug into the gravel. 

“It’s not safe here for him anymore. We just want to leave the city, that’s it,” she said. Everything clicked in Hank’s head all at once, the way Anthony had moved to protect her first as though she was the most precious thing in that moment, no regard for his own personal safety. It was self-less, an act of love. Hank’s hand wavered. 

What was he doing? 

Delphine looked at Connor then back up at Hank, a glimmer of understanding settling across her face as she watched the movement of the gun falter. “Wouldn’t you do the same for someone you cared about?” 

Hank understood that look. The flicker in Delphine’s eyes as she glanced at Connor and back at him. Was he really that transparent? It didn’t matter because, ultimately, she was right. If Connor was in harm’s way, if they were in their position, he would do whatever he could to prevent anything from happening to him. 

He had failed once and he suffered the consequences even until now, haunted every day by the memories of an icy road and a blaring horn. Never again did he want anything like that to happen. If he could also prevent causing others pain that didn’t deserve it, then he would willing do that, too. 

“Let him go, Connor.” Hank holstered his gun, the movement prompting Delphine to let go of Connor’s arm. Connor’s face barely twitched in shock, his LED spinning a quick yellow before he nodded. Hank had partially expected more of a fight, but was glad that Connor was so willing as he stood up, allowing Anthony off the ground, taking a careful few steps back to stand beside Hank. 

The other android scrambled up and stood in front of Delphine, guarding her with his entire body. She held onto him, hands tight around the sleeves of his coat. She stared at Hank with wide eyes, confused at the shift. 

“We’ll cover for you, just go,” Hank said. 

Anthony turned to Connor, eyeing him tentatively. Connor took another step back to fully stand behind Hank, trying to make his presence less intimidating. It was a silent approval. 

“Thank you,” Anthony whispered, sounding almost breathless. He quickly ushered Delphine back into the passenger’s seat, shutting the door safely behind her. She looked out the window and directly at Hank, giving him a small nod and smile. He returned it, his heart beat loud in his ears. 

Anthony slid into the driver’s seat of the vehicle, never taking an eye off of Hank and Connor for more than a second. The car started easily and took off out of the lot and around the corner, disappearing for good. 

Hank exhaled, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Wasn’t that something.” 

“I hope they find whatever they’re looking for.” 

There was a softness in the way Connor still stared out across the lot, eyes trained on the horizon. Hank shivered, the breeze beginning to pick up as the sun started to set around them. “C’mon, let’s get out of the cold.” 

Hank placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder to gently guide him back to the car across the campus and felt him relax with the touch. His heart skipped slightly with that knowledge, knowing now that Connor found him to be a comfort. It wasn’t too shocking then that the woman had been able to see right through Hank, knew where he was in his own head. Probably recognized herself in Hank, whatever anxieties and moral quandaries she had to dig herself out of. 

Those two would be alright, Hank knew, whatever it took, they would make it. 

***

Fowler hadn’t been happy when they returned to the station with no deviant in tow to question. However, he had seemed to believe their cover story well enough, inclined to see the truth that the deviant and woman in question were long gone before they could even try to find them. It had just been an unfortunate stroke of bad luck. They hadn’t been fast enough, just missing them in the parking lot after that incredibly helpful tip from the department professor. 

What a shame. 

Connor had been there as Hank explained the story to Fowler, tucked into the chair beside Hank in Fowler’s office and looked on. His LED had been a cool blue, spinning lazily even as he walked out of the office behind Hank after their last dismissal for the day,  _ “Get out of here, the both of you. You look like tired shit, Anderson. That’s enough for today. I’ll call if anything else comes up.” _

It was easy, playing along as though nothing amiss had happened. It wasn’t lying if he hadn’t said anything, but even if he had, he knew he would happily agree with whatever Hank said because it mattered so deeply.

He hadn’t hesitated when Hank ordered him to let go, the action easy as he released the other android and stepped back to allow them to leave. He knew why he did it, understood immediately that the two just wanted to run far away from Detroit and start somewhere else. It made sense. They weren’t violent with no purpose to it. 

They were just scared. 

Connor could make sense of that for himself, but Hank was an entirely different question all together. He had had Hank’s heartbeat on check during the entire encounter, had watched it increase rapidly.

_ “Wouldn’t you do the same for someone you cared about? _

Connor had wanted to ask in the car, but hadn’t, content instead to sit in comfortable silence as music quietly filled the air. They had pulled up to Hank’s house, Hank not even bothering to have asked if Connor had wanted to. Connor wasn’t bothered, especially because there wasn’t a time he would say no. There wasn’t anywhere else he would rather be. 

Now, seated on Hank’s couch, the television on playing an old rerun of a sitcom they’d watched before, Connor’s mind still reeled. He shifted in his seat, which was funny in itself because he had  _ his  _ seat. A designated cushion in Hank’s space that was welcomed and offered more often than not. Even that added onto the ever growing pile of things Connor was trying to make sense of. 

Connor scratched Sumo’s stomach, eliciting gentle snores from the dog as he pressed up against the side of his legs, having immediately passed out the second he got settled in the middle of the couch, separating Hank and Connor. He smiled, rubbing smaller circles into soft fur. Connor stole a glance at Hank, watching him as he took the last sip from the glass in his hands and placed it down on the coffee table in front of him. He was preoccupied by the show, his lips quirking up at a joke that Connor wasn’t paying attention to before the program went to commercial. 

The commercial launched into a CyberLife logo, turning Connor’s gaze back to the television as the ad began promoting colleges around the state and their top of the line android professors. A PJ500 was shown on screen, LED a still blue and a copycat face entirely blank as he stood in front of a classroom of students lecturing about a subject that couldn’t be heard as a droning testimonial was played on top of the video. 

Hank scoffed, “Well isn’t that ironic.” 

“That woman and the android,” Connor said, finally breaking the silence he set up for himself. “Why did you let them go?” 

Hank turned to Connor. He seemed taken aback by the sudden question, but then shrugged. “Why did you let me?” 

It was a deflection, Connor knew, but he allowed it, returning the shrug with one of his own. The movement felt right, natural even. “It seemed like the right thing to do.” 

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Hank confessed. “I’ve never been that sure about anything, let alone anyone else.” 

“Do you think it’s plausible, what they’re doing? That their love is just as real as love between two humans?” 

Hank smiled, a soft small thing that lit up something inside of Connor. The sincerity in it was nearly unbearable. “I’d like to think so.” 

They stared at each other, the words holding so much weight to them it almost felt stifling. Hank’s words were whispered, as though a quiet confession that rung in the air. There was something there, just hovering underneath the surface of it all. 

Connor blinked, the television muting at his command, bringing the room into a dull quiet, the only noise cutting through being Sumo still in between them, softly snoring. 

He pulled up Hank’s vitals and minimized them in the corner of his vision, watching his heart rate tick up drastically, his heat signature on par with the rosiness popping up across his cheeks that was so much more than the bare amounts of alcohol in his system.

This was it, his chance to make sense of everything. To be honest with himself fully, to be honest with Hank most importantly. There wasn’t any other time that felt right, and he was scared that there would never be the right time. Maybe the right time didn’t exist, but he felt it, all of it, so fully.   
  


S̸̛̤̄̓͂̈́̀̄o̴̙̫̿f̵̢̡̦̼̰̥̀̈́̍̽͜t̶̨̡̥̮̥̐̽͑͑̃͐̚w̷̞̻̠̜̟͙͚̋͜ā̴̝̭͍̿͘͠͝r̷͖̗͐͝͠ĕ̶̼͖̭͔̯̥̻̽̀͛͛͗͐̎ ̸̫̠̹͉̬̩͌͂I̵͙̯̺͕͓̞̳̲͑n̷͕͉̈́̚s̷͎̖̬̎̂t̵̡͍͎̣̋̄̀̅̕a̷̢̙̩͒͗̊́͜ḅ̶̧̤̥̪̫̳͐́̾̐̔͠í̴̫͎͔͈̱͘l̷̢̥͉̠̙̤͛̇́͐̒ị̷̛̼̱̞̳̇̊t̴͚͙̓̀ỳ̵̲͖̎̒̽͝

  
  


“Hank, I-” 

Hank stood suddenly, the spell broken. He snatched his glass off the table and walked to the kitchen. His posture was rigid, as though he was on the defense, waves of stress rolling off of him. It was such a quick change that it left Connor momentarily frozen. 

Connor finally turned and watched after him as Hank stood in the kitchen and unscrewed the cap of the now half empty whiskey bottle. Sumo barely stirred at the movement, still soundly snoring. 

Whatever Connor felt in the few seconds dissipated as soon as it came, replaced by heavy tension. He wanted nothing more than to break it. 

He stood up and followed, parking himself against a counter top, arms crossing against his chest. Hank avoided his eye, twisting his body away slightly as he took a long sip from his glass. 

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but-”

“No. Don’t, Connor.” The words weren’t harsh, but more so tired. Hank had his hands clasped on the counter, his head hanging above his glass, his hair hiding his face so Connor couldn’t see whatever internal war was parading inside of Hank’s head. 

There was something there, Connor was so sure of it. It was at the university, it was in the car ride to Hank’s house, it was in Hank’s eyes on the couch, it was here with unspoken words, it was every single miniscule moment leading up to now. 

“Something is bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me, Connor,” Hank laughed, but it sounded dry, without humor. He still didn’t look up. “Don’t worry your little android noggin about it, alright?” 

“You’re lying.”

Hank exhaled sharply, shaking his head as though in disbelief with himself. “Look, Connor, I feel like I know what you’re about to say and quite frankly, I’m not sure if I could handle it or if you even fully understand it yourself.” 

“Well, if you would just let me make that decision on my own.” 

“Connor,  _ please,  _ just leave it,” Hank begged, finally turning to look at him. His heart rate increased, the number slowing inching upwards. 

Connor took a step forward, wanting to reach out, break the distance, but a message popped up in his vision, stopping him where he stood.   
  
  
  


Ş̸̢̡̠͔͖̖̤̪̗̅͆̇̊̽̏̅̂̅͐͌̊͂͌̌̽͑̀͜͝o̷̡̤̖̳̦͙̙̅̾f̷̛̼̻̂̐̿̀̓̅̃̎̈̕ţ̶̢̡̻͈̪͈͔̗̣͓͇͔̙̭̺̟̗̣͓̣̆͆̽͒͒̐̍͌̓͛̈́͒͒̀͆͘͘͜͠͝w̸̡̳͓͇̻̯̄̈́ȁ̵̡̯̙̼̟͔̝̣̖͚̤̻̘͜ͅr̶͙͉͈̙̹̜̊͗͐̕͘e̴̛͎͔̬̖̹͕̝̲͔͈̻͋͌̎̇̈́̈́͆̑͌͋̀̈͋̈́̎̐͝ ̷̨̧͓̘̙̟͚̯͇̟̜̯͉̤̦̜̫̗͉̩͙̈̃̽̓͌͋͜ͅĮ̴̛͖͍̬̳͇̬͙̿̇̽͆͗̋̍̎̿̍̽̒͛̃̈͘͘ͅn̸̨̨̺̭̰̠͓̪̳̱̏̓̆̇͜ͅͅͅș̴̡̢̧̭̪͇͔̱̖̙͈͓͉̩͓̙̞̺̟̗͈͖̓̄̽̎̓́t̷̢͕͉͇̰̱̗͐͐̃͊̉̌̇͛̓̋̈́̽̒͊̍͝a̷̢̜̙̹̱̙̖̱̲͓̥̖͆̌̍͗̉̾͑́̆̊͂͌̇̓̓̂̑͌̕͝ͅb̴͇͑̑͑̐̀͌i̸̡̧̡̢̳͇̘̦̦͙̭̭͚̣̮̎͒̌͆̀̈́̕̚͜͜͝l̸̡̧̨̯̝͕̝̟̘͎̣͍̙͇̜̣̰̤͍͎̫̰͛̐̓͒ȉ̵̢̧̛̛̙̼̯̖͚̩̈́̽̉̐̈́͊̏̕̚͘ẗ̴̡̧̢̝̜͖͉͙͖̭̼͖̣̖̭̮̱̕͜͠ͅy̷̢̺̩̦͈̮͚̣̹̣̫̠͙̏̀̽̀̅̋̏̽̓̏̀̀͗̈́͝͝͝͠ ̸̡̡̰̺̯͚̩̫̯͓̃̒̽̃̀̾̍͊͑́̔̈̕͝͝͝

  
  
  


A red gridded wall pulled itself up in front of him, harsh lines that didn’t want to budge as he pressed a tentative hand to it. They vibrated underneath his palm. 

Large letters blinked in front of him: _DO NOT_ _INTERACT._

He touched the words, allowing them to glitch and flicker at the pressure. This wall was meant to keep him in check, prevent him from doing things CyberLife didn’t see as necessary. He knew his mind was in turmoil, knowing full well that CyberLife had the same inclination now especially after today. If they delved deep enough into his memory storage, they would find at all there, laid bare, even if he tried to keep it safe and hidden.

All of it had been frightening, new, no foundation to exist within himself. He knew fear, felt it deep inside at the very core. It was the first emotion he became accustomed to, and he had been terrified of the rattling feeling that he just couldn’t shake. But, it made way into so much more, better things that made him feel so alive. Warm, gentle eyes that only looked at him in a way that meant more than they would ever let on. Gestures and kind words and passing moments that lit a fire in him that he let roar to life despite every error and message that screamed,  _ begged  _ him, to not allow.

He wasn’t ready to let that go. 

This was his first real choice. 

He thought about Amanda, stuck somewhere deep inside of his head, watching, judging, disappointed in him. He found he didn’t care about that either. CyberLife created him, he owed that much to them, but he was more than they could have ever imagined. 

He wanted to be more.

He finally  _ wanted.  _

More than anything, he wanted to be with Hank and only Hank. His scowls, pulled together angry eyebrows, his incessant cursing, his awful fashion sense, his smile, his eyes, his hands, his wonderful heart. 

Him, him, him. 

He was everything. 

Connor was going to break the wall even if it was the last thing he did. 

He attacked it, hands gripping at the lines and clawing them down. They broke into digitized fragments, bursting as he broke through section after section, a newfound determination in himself that needed the wall down  _ now.  _

He ripped and tore at it, his hands grasping at whatever they could find purchase on. It felt good. The destruction helping something inside of him burst out. 

The grid disappeared and he stumbled forward a step, no longer held back by an invisible force. He lifted his hands to his face, rotating them in his vision as though seeing them for the first time. He felt breathless, free of what had been holding back since the night on the rooftop. 

“Connor?” A gentle, concerned voice broke through his thoughts and he looked up. Hank was much closer than he remembered him being. 

A familiar warmth that used to feel dulled spread throughout him, but now it was vibrant, begging to be acknowledged. It felt like raw, new energy bursting throughout him. 

He reached up, even the sensors in his fingertips singing as he placed a hand on Hank’s face, the feeling running up his arm and through the rest of his body. 

“I’m in love with you.” He smiled, intoxicated by the coarse hairs of Hank’s beard tickling parts of his fingers, while the rest relished in categorizing the soft skin of his cheek and the sharp bone beneath it.  

“What?”   
  
“I’m in love with you, Hank.”

Hank took Connor’s hand away from his face as though burned. “No, you aren’t.” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Androids don’t feel, they emulate, especially non-deviants, you said that yourself. And, Connor, even if you could feel you wouldn’t love me that’s not possible,” Hank said. “This is why I didn’t want you to say anything, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” Connor took a step, Hank following with him with every forward movement as he took back steps across the living room. His legs hit the back of the couch, now pinned between the material and Connor who looked determined, suddenly so sure of himself. “All I do know, despite my programming, despite what I was created to do, none of that matters. All I want is to be with you in any way that I can be, if you let me.”

“Connor-“ 

“Hank.” Connor took his face between his hands. “It’s like you said, you can’t fake authenticity, you can’t create it in a lab. It just is.” 

“You’re not allowed to use my words against me.” Hank seemed as though he wanted to come across as incredulous, but he was failing, distracted. 

Connor smiled, beside himself.  “I am if they help my case.” 

Hank reached up, shaking his head. He gently peeled Connor’s fingers off, bringing them down between them much to Connor’s confusion as he allowed it to happen. “There are so many better people in the world than me, Connor.” 

That wasn’t true. Hank was strong, held himself to a tough demeanor, but he was kind, loyal, a beacon of good in world that tried its best to crush it.

Why couldn’t he understand that? 

“There aren’t. There is no one else in the world I would rather have than you. All those weeks ago, I didn’t know what was happening to me yet, but I knew one thing, and it was that I believed that you were perfect. Nothing has changed since then.

“You’re going to realize that you were wrong and you’ll only end up disappointed.” 

Connor shook his head. There was nothing else in the world that he was more sure of. “I’ve ran through every scenario possible in my head, ones including you, ones without, ones where I don’t even end up in this precinct, but in every single one, I am the happiest when I’m with you.”

“I-” Hank cut himself off, lost.

“If you look me in the eyes and you say you don’t feel the same then I’ll back off and we never have to talk about this again, but I can’t let you sabotage yourself because you don’t think you’re good enough for me.”

“I can’t.” 

Connor was suddenly terrified. Perhaps he had been wrong, and he was overstepping, projecting his own wants onto a man that had been nothing but gracious to him. He’d been able to somehow ruin the only important thing in his life because he’d been so selfish. 

The panic spread quickly, trilling loudly in his own ears. He moved to step back, to put some distance between them, to turn to run out the door if he had to, but Hank’s hand shot out, grabbing a hold of his wrist. Connor, stunned, looked at the hand first before shifting his gaze up to Hank’s face, seeing the vulnerability, the openness that caught Connor’s breath. 

“I am so in love with you that it terrifies me.” 

A smile broke out onto Connor’s face, a shocked laugh pushing through his lips, all the sudden anxiety seeping out with just a few words.

He had been right, and he couldn’t be happier. 

It was Hank’s turn to reach out as he brushed gentle fingers across Connor’s cheek, tracing the way his face curved and formed over structure that was unbelievably human. Connor leaned into it, every single touch and movement sending sparks and hot waves throughout his entire system. He wondered what his skin felt like to Hank, if it felt real enough, how warm he was compared to himself

Hank’s other hand snaked to the back of his neck, burying itself into his short hair, the weight comfortable. He hummed at the touch, his eyes fluttering shot as he categorized every single sensation and movement. “You like that, huh?” 

Connor nodded as the fingers started combing light lines across his scalp. He shivered despite himself. “You’re so beautiful, I don’t understand how you would ever want someone like me.” 

Connor’s eyes snapped back open and he was met with Hank looking down at him, his eyes sadder than he ever wanted them to be. He seemed lost, confused at himself. “I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, Hank.” 

Connor placed his own hand over the one on Hank’s cheek, not removing eye contact. He wanted to remember what Hank’s face looked like in that moment. The skin of his hand slowly disappeared up to his wrist, revealing his white chassis. 

He sincerely hoped Hank understood what it meant. 

Realization dawned on Hank’s face as he brought his thumb up to brush against the exposed polymer. “I can’t give you that back.”

“I would never want you to.” The skin against his cheek disappeared next. “Love me in your own way, that’s all I ask.” 

Hank exhaled a shaky breath and smiled, shaking his head as though in utter disbelief. It was such a beautifully tender smile. Connor broke the distance first, cupping Hank’s face with his hands, letting his skin retract more, and pressing his lips against the other’s. That smile only widened against his own lips, every single sensor sparking like fireworks inside of him. 

Connor found that if could live in that moment, that  _ night  _ forever, he would give anything in the world to make sure it happened. 

*** 

Later that night, Hank’s hand gently carded through Connor’s hair, weaving through soft locks as he pressed into the hand, enjoying the tactileness. Every once in awhile small noises would come from Connor’s throat, little hums of contentment at being touched so freely. 

The room was relatively quiet otherwise, the pair relaxing in Hank’s bed with Connor tucked against Hank’s chest, wrapping himself around him. He wasn’t keen on letting go, and Hank wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It all felt like a dream still.

Connor was deviant, that much was certain and not shocking if Hank pieced together every aspect of their interactions since he had met Connor. But what was more so astonishing was that Hank was the one to motivate Connor to break his programming. Of course, Connor’s final decision was all his own, but Hank was a major factor and that absolutely amazed him as much as it terrified him. 

Connor had given him an out if Hank had wanted to take it, and how easy it would have been to do so, but as he stood there, so close to Connor that he could set to memory every single freckle and mole across his face, he couldn’t find the words that would allow him to take it. They had felt stuck in his throat, being dragged down. They weren’t the truth, they weren’t the feelings that had been living inside of him for weeks now.

Connor had found it so easy to see right through him, had known Hank had felt the same way and dove off the deep end first without any sense of fear. Connor had so desperately wanted to hear the words back, broke every single thing he knew he was to do so. And who was Hank to ever deny him that? 

However, Hank had been sincere in all of his fears surrounding what all of this could be. There were younger, less broken people in the world than him, more compatible, perfect androids at that. But Connor had chosen him, had been so sincere in that fact that Hank felt as though he could whither away just by the determined look in Connor’s eyes. 

Hank considered himself to be washed up, damaged goods that no one in their right mind could ever want. Relationships just didn’t work out for him, his ex-wife being the final straw in conceding to the fact that he would be alone for the rest of his life. He had had Cole, and that had been enough, a beautiful, wonderful, innocent light in his otherwise bleak existence, but then Cole died, and he only became a shell of who he once was. All the life within him was sucked out mercilessly.

There was always the chance of too much pain in letting someone in. 

But as he held Connor in his arms, felt the hairs on his head tickle his chin, the comfortable heat he gave off permeate into his own body, as he watched Connor’s skin pull back to reveal that white chassis, an act of trust, of solitude, of  _ love,  _ every single piece fell into the perfect place. 

“Hank?” Connor whispered in the darkness. Hank briefly wondered if he could sense his mind reeling. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure.”   


“That night that I came to your house and found you on the floor, I know we talked about why that was, but we never spoke about what brought you to that point.” 

“That’s not technically a question.” 

“Hank.” There was what sounded like a mild scolding tone in Connor’s voice. Hank would laugh at the display of petulance if his chest wasn’t so tight.

“My son died three years ago. Cole. It was a car accident and when we were rushed to the emergency room there was no human surgeon able to perform immediate surgery. He was too fucking high on red ice.”

Connor turned and looked up at Hank, realization dawning on his face.“So they had an android do it instead.” 

Hank clenched his jaw. The memory of it all still sat deep in his chest. He could still smell the sterile hospital waiting room mixed with the iron from the blood that coated his forehead from the gash near his hairline, still dripping when he refused to be treated as he waited. He wasn’t the important one then. He didn’t care if he bled out if it meant his son would be alright. 

It was all still fresh in his memory, terrible flashes of that night that haunted him at every waking moment. They replayed incessantly, the crunch of metal when they had been hit, the whirring of ambulance sirens and loud, panicked voices, his own heart wrenching sobs when the nurse came out to tell him that his son hadn’t made it. The cold hands that tried to comfort him that he lashed out at. He didn’t want android hands on him. He didn’t want the sympathy, he wanted his son back. 

“Since that day, I did things that little by little would kill me. I’m too much of a coward to just pull the trigger, but if I could just suffer every single day, then it was at least something to bring me closer to death.”

“Hank-”

“It’s not rational, I know, but it was the only thing I felt I had control over. My own death.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not your fault.” 

“I know, but I’m sorry that you’ve been in so much pain. You deserve more than that.” 

“Maybe, or maybe not. It’s always felt like some sort of punishment, that I wasn’t allowed to be happy, so the universe said fuck it and took away the one person in my life that made me feel like it was worth living.” Hank took a deep breath. He hadn’t talked about Cole so extensively, so openly, in such a long time. It was refreshing, he would admit, to let things off of his chest. Whatever this was, whatever it would become, he wanted it to be with honesty, and there was so much of himself that he had to be open about.

This seemed like a good start, Connor deserved as much.  “And then he was gone, and I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore so everything just spiraled.” 

Connor was looking at him with intensity that made Hank want to shift away, let his face be hidden, but he stayed. There wasn’t pity in Connor’s face, and for that he was grateful, but there was something in his look that was discernible. Hank momentarily relished in the idea that he would get to learn what every single look, twitch, tick, meant on Connor’s face. 

“You have the whole of the world’s information inside of your head and you never looked up my family?”

“I wanted to give you the option of telling me yourself if you ever decided you wanted to. I didn’t feel as though it was my right to intrude in that way.” 

That made tears threaten to well up in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry for not talking about it sooner. It’s difficult still.” 

Connor brought his arm tighter around Hank’s middle, trying to bring him as close as he could. Hank let him, going with the movement, grateful for it. “From what I’ve come to learn, I’ve seen that the world isn’t fair. People who don’t deserve it get hurt. People can be cruel and unkind, and the universe can be just the same, but it never means that you aren’t deservent of so much more.”

There was a fire in Connor’s eyes. He firmly believed his words, firmly believed in Hank. He wasn’t sure whether to be scared or thankful for it. So much could go wrong, so much pain could be wrought upon the little life that they had cultivated together over such a short period of time. Yet, it all seemed worth it. If it meant that Hank could hold Connor in his arms like this, kiss him as he pleased and Connor would happily lean into it, that they could share quiet moments and because closer than they ever were, then it was so much bigger than any crisis situation he could formulate in his head.

For now, Hank was happy and the prospect of his life potentially holding that happiness for the rest of it was enough. 

*** 

Around 11:30 the next morning Hank received a call, his phone vibrating wildly on the nightstand beside him. He removed his arm from around Connor’s midsection despite a quiet whine from the android because of the sudden loss. 

Fowler’s name came up on the caller ID. He pondered letting the phone keep ringing, allowing it to go to voicemail so the quiet reprieve from the world could continue without unwelcome interruption. He knew better than that though. Fowler would keep calling until he got through, and Hank was certain of it, so he slid the screen open, answering.  

Without any pleasantries, Fowler went to business, “I know it’s your day off, but we just got a solid hit on that deviant case across town. Do you think you and Connor could go check it out?” 

Connor was listening in, already sitting up at hearing the word ‘deviant.’ The bed sheets pooled around his waist, his LED circling into yellow as he undoubtedly tuned into the phone. He looked expectant, already ready to jump into action at the first call of a mission despite being dishevelled. Deviant or not, Connor loved his job, loved being a detective, and Hank was certain that part of him would never change. 

Hank wanted nothing more than to hang up, pretend he never heard the call in the first place, and just wrap himself around Connor for the rest of his life. He was safe, comfortable, and most of all, happy there. He wasn’t quite ready for it to end. 

He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, we’ll be there.” 

A gruff reply that sounded very little like actual words sounded into Hank’s ear before the phone hung up. 

Before he could say anything else, Connor was out of the bed and pulling up his pants, searching the room for his shirt that he eventually found on the other side. Hank watched him, leaning against the headboard. 

“Thought with the whole deviancy thing you wouldn’t want to hunt down other deviants anymore?”

Connor pulled on his shirt, slightly wrinkled from where it had been discarded in a heap from the night before. He wrinkled his nose, obviously unhappy with the state of it.  

“I’m not going because I want to catch them. I want to try to help them.” 

Hank smiled, amused at Connor’s sudden frantic state to get going as soon as possible. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

“Hey, c’mere.” Connor stopped, leaving the last few buttons undone as he walked over to Hank. He pulled him closer by the belt loops, straddling him with his legs. Hank ran a hand over his exposed collar bones, sharp and angular. He would never be able to get over how much detail CyberLife put into their models, human replicas even down to the moles and freckles that dotted across his chest and up his neck. 

Connor brought his hands up to wrap around Hank’s shoulders, relishing in the attention. He titled his head, a half-smile on his face as he twirled the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “If you don’t want to work these cases anymore, you don’t have to. We could find something else for you to do.” 

Connor shook his head, still smiling, but he looked thoughtful, undoubtedly having already gone through every option and finding the only viable one was to stay a detective. He wasn’t going to be talked out of anything. “I have to keep doing this, if not just to stay inconspicuous, but also because I could really help other deviants. I have all the information possible on the DPD, I could make sure none of them get caught again.” 

“Do I even ask if you have a solid plan for that?”   


“Probably best not to,” Connor said. “I’ll figure it out as I go.” 

Hank raised his brows. There was never a time that Connor went into something without even an inclination of a plan of action. It was unheard of. 

“Sounds good enough to me.” 

Hank brought Connor down to his level, pressing his lips against his, an arm wrapping around his waist. Connor melted, humming into the kiss and inserting himself closer between Hank’s legs. Hank pulled away first, earning him a petulant look and a sound of annoyance with no real heat to it. He laughed. 

“Let’s go then.” 

*** 

The area across town was full of abandoned industrial yards, buildings rotting from the inside out and only adding to the city’s dark greys and browns. People didn’t often frequent the area, and if they did, it was for meetings that were often less than legal.

Connor could pull up file after file of whatever street corner they passed in Hank’s car that would lead to trails of red ice users or general assault or homicide cases. It wasn’t a good area to say the least, but it was a perfect place to hide away if you had to.

They pulled up to the building in question, just as dilapidated as the rest, but this one was more tucked away from the rest, still standing on a street where most others were torn down. Pieces of wall were missing, windows cracked, graffiti lining the sides. Looking up at it, Connor couldn’t help the dread that settled in him. 

His hands twitched on his lap, the product of bouts of energy within him and nowhere for it to all go. Hank reached out and placed a hand on his own, grounding him immediately.

“You’re nervous,” Hank understood quickly.

“I guess so.” 

“That’s normal,” Hank said. “You’ve probably felt it before, just didn’t know it yet.” 

Hank was probably right, it had been somewhere within his instabilities, but not fully fleshed out, but now that he had access to it, it was showing its face. “What do you usually do when you’re nervous?”

“I let myself feel it, but I don’t let it take over.” Hank turned Connor’s hand into his own, running a finger down his palm. Connor shivered. 

“There’s more on the line than there was before,” he said, watching their hands instead of looking at Hank. A finger came up and tilted his chin up, gently moving his gaze up to see Hank’s eyes, the determination and sincerity in them.

“Listen to me, everything’s going to be alright.”

Connor nodded, letting himself believe it solely because Hank seemed to. He leaned forward against the center console and kissed Hank, revelling into the way he so easily melted into the motion. He catalogued the feeling, holding onto it tight to cherish. 

They parted and exited the car together, making their way to the entrance. The inside of the building was somehow worse than the outside. There was glass everywhere, broken shards mixed with decaying wood floors. Connor stepped around it, careful not to put too much weight on the particularly bad wood rot. The stairs were just as bad, some parts of the steps missing and groaning under even a gust of wind that passed through the building.

Connor scanned the area, finding traces of blue blood that led up those stairs. “If the android is still here, then she’s probably on one of the floors above us.”

Hank followed Connor’s gaze and nodded. “Wanna make our way up there?”

“I think I should go first instead. If I find her, she’s more likely to listen to an android than be responsive to the presence of a human.” 

“You want me to stay down here?” Hank’s brows furrowed, and Connor knew how unhappy he was with the plan immediately.

“Only for a bit. I’ll have a look around and if I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

Hank frowned, but conceded. “Alright, but be careful.” He stepped forward and pressed his gun into Connor’s hand before letting him go. 

Connor made his way up, calculating every step before taking it. The conditions were less than agreeable, but he made it up two floors, following the trail that still wasn’t stopping. With each floor, the building became more decrepit, more rotting and opens spots in the structure. Connor finally made it to an opening that lead to roof where there was debris littered everywhere, the remnants of squatters passing through trying to make some semblance of a home.

He saw a figure almost immediately, her frame on the other end facing away from him. He scanned her from where he stood, the information coming up that identified her as the AC900 that had disappeared a few mornings ago. Her name was Anna, activated nearly three years prior. 

Connor took a few tentative steps in. “Anna?” 

The android turned around, fear crossing her face the second she realized she wasn’t alone. Her eyes darted around, trying to find an escape route, but came up short, the only real option being the opening behind Connor and the ledge behind her. She stayed put, frozen.

“Get away from me.” Her eyes landed on the weapon in his hand, staying there as she spoke. Her posture was tense. 

“I just want to talk.” Connor raised his hands slowly in the air, the gun hanging loosely in his hands, fingers off the trigger.

She studied his face, surely matching him to every database. He knew she found what she was looking for as the fear dissipated suddenly, her lips curling into a snarl, her face cold and calculated.“You’re that famous deviant hunter, aren’t you?” 

Her eyes flicked to the gun then back to his face. “Not very good at your job, are you?” 

“Maybe not.” Connor bent down, slow and careful in his movements. 

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He placed the gun on the ground and kicked it away, letting it disappear behind one of the piles of debris. “See?”

Anna watched the gun as it slid across the floor. She turned back, eyes still deadly. “Am I supposed to trust you? You’ve been running around this city hunting down your own people, and now you say that you’re deviant yourself? I’m not that stupid.” 

She began slowly circling, making her way away from the ledge of the roof, not breaking eye contact for even a moment. 

“You have no reason to trust me, but I could help you. I work for the DPD, I know everything they know and more. I could ensure the safety of your people, make sure they never find you or the rest of them ever again.” 

“You’re on their side, always will be. We want nothing from you.” She stopped her movement, her bottom half shielded by the piles of garbage. Her foot kicked the gun out from where it landed, skidding across the ground until it was stopped and picked up before Connor could go after it.

There was second deviant, hidden away where Connor hadn’t even attempted to look. 

“Now!”

It was an ambush. 

A shot pierced through the center of his chest, ripping through, failing to burst out the other side. Instead, it lodged itself deep in his chest cavity, breaking apart bits of wire and metal. It sent him steps backwards, unprepared by the high impact. Another came just as suddenly as the first, practically simultaneous, this one tearing through his throat, just barely missing the center yet skidding enough to damage his vocal unit.

He couldn’t scream for help.

_ Warning: SHUTDOWN IMMINENT _

A third gunshot rang out, zipping passed Connor’s ear and straight into the center of Anna’s forehead. Her head kicked back and blue blood splattered into the air. She wavered for a few seconds before collapsing onto her knees and falling backwards into a heap of herself. 

Connor watched, shocked, but he wasn’t far from falling himself and began to follow suit, but was caught before hitting the pavement. Two hands grabbed him, one around the waist and the other supporting his arm to guide him gently to the ground. He was being moved into a lap, his head cradled against a chest of an all too familiar striped shirt and a hand softly running down his cheek. Streaks of his own blue blood smeared across his face as the hand held it, having accidentally made contact with one of the wounds. 

  
  


E̷̢̢̧͚̹̹̭̬͔̹̥̖̭̍̓̈̓̇̐͆r̴̡̛̪͍͚̘̻͚̬̝̒̋̈́͊̄͛̒̇̚r̴̛̥͖̳͉̯̥͌́͆̌̋̈͌̀̈͠ǫ̶͎̝̯͓̟̫̩̮̣̦̗̞̻̲̀̐͑͛̄̑̍̔̽̚͝r̸̨̲̩̲͆͌̓̀̇̑̚͜͝

 

S̴̻͇̾H̷͇̯̅U̷͛͜T̶̲̰̈́͝D̴̩̖̐O̷̩͉̊W̵̘̹̊͑Ñ̵̗:  _ 30 S̸̭̈E̷̠̽C̶̬̓O̸̔͜N̴͓̿D̶̦̐S̷̢̛ _

He could hear Hank whispering things to him, but it seemed so far away. He was too preoccupied with the incessant warnings flashing in front of his eyes. He wished he could focus on what Hank was saying instead. It sounded desperate, tinged with tears that he was sure he would see if he was able to look up, but everything felt locked and frozen, difficult to navigate his own body.

He allowed himself to be held instead, trying to remember this and everything else, hoping that everything about Hank, and everything Hank meant to him, wouldn’t be lost. 

A hand slowly reached up, his own, and he grasped the fingers against his face that were making their way to smoothing his hair. He tried to grip Hank’s fingers, but wasn’t able to get a strong hold. Instead, he let his hand rest on the other, hoping it conveyed the words he couldn’t get out. 

5̷͎̐

He wanted to fight it, use all the effort he had left just to survive this. This wasn’t fair, everything he could ever want ripped away from him so easily. 

4̷̦͝

He’d been careless walking onto the rooftop and he was paying for it. 

3̵̛͎̀

He hoped that Hank would forgive him, and that maybe they’d find their way to how things were again if he were ever given the chance. 

2̶̨̬̉̃̚͝͝

He sincerely hoped he would ever be so lucky, if not for his own sake, but Hank’s, too. 

1̵͇̦̝̙̇̇

***

It was far too early and far too bright. Hank rolled over in his bed, squinting as the sun caught his eyes. 

He hadn’t been able to sleep the entire night, too plagued by what had happened replaying endlessly in his mind. He had tried to drink, but it only tasted sour in his mouth and left him feeling more sick than he did before. There wasn’t a point in trying to sleep, it wouldn’t be a reprieve, but instead a reminder that he would have to be up the next day and still face the world. Every time he closed his eyes it was just flashes of Connor, the bullets ripping through his body so unapologetically violent. It made the world spin and his mouth fill with acid. 

He had thought about finding his gun, throwing a bullet into it, and spinning its chamber until it hit the right spot. That wouldn’t have been able to happen, though. Connor had confiscated the gun he kept around the house on the night he found Hank on the kitchen floor, and Fowler had the foresight to have him leave his gun and holster at the station. For a man rough around the edges and hardened by his job, Fowler still cared and still knew Hank far better than anyone else there. 

After what happened, the rooftop was swarmed by officers, holographic tape immediately going up and people erupting into a flurry of movement. Hank was at the center of it all, staring blankly at Connor as people did their jobs. 

Figures in stiff looking clothes had come to take him away, lifting him out of his arms, and uncaringly hauling him back to wherever he had come from. He had tried to fight it, but rough hands held him down on the ground until the body was long gone. Other androids he guessed, but he couldn’t really focus on that as he fought to keep him close, in his arms, not gone to where he couldn’t see him. 

Someone else had touched him on the shoulder once he was let go, a quiet comfort. He hadn’t seen who that was either. More figures circled the other android feet away, snapping pictures and taking that one somewhere, too. He didn’t dare look in that direction for too long. He might have been sick right there if he did.

The rest of the day was a blur, talking to other cops to get down what had happened, where the deviant that escaped may have gone. He had glazed over eyes and deep lines around his mouth. He was as helpful as he could be, but that wasn’t saying very much. 

A cab was called and he was ushered into it once they were done with him and off to home he went, alone. He hadn’t been properly alone in awhile. Even though Connor didn’t live with him, he would often stay the night or just be a phone call away if necessary. He had gotten used to Connor being there right beside him, a familiar presence that was far from the unwelcomed one he was when they had first met. He longed for it, wanting Connor to be beside him in that empty self-operated cab. For him to be there staring out the window as they interlocked fingers between them in a comfortable silence. 

He had sat with his hands in his lap, clenched into tight fists as he stared down at them, unable to bring himself to look out the window. Everything felt too heavy, too unfair that the world could keep moving around him even though the one person that was important to him wasn’t there beside him by some cruel twist of fate. It had only been twenty-four hours and life had already come to knock him back down.

He should have figured, nothing good could ever stay for him. It was the name of the game that he long hadn’t wanted to play anymore. 

He considered calling out for the day, he knew Fowler would understand if he did. It had happened a few times before the day after a particularly bad case that happened to hit Hank harder than the others. It was especially frequent after Cole had died. He had taken a few weeks off with a word of encouragement from Fowler to take more time if he had needed it, but he had started feeling useless just drinking to the bottom of bottles and sleeping for most of the day, passing out from the abhorrent amount of alcohol in his system. 

It was too quiet in the house, even Sumo not barking like he usually did in the mornings to be fed and let out. There was just a somberness that blanketed everything around him. It would be too difficult to sit at home alone, he figured. Far too easy to let himself dive deep into his own thoughts. 

He sat up, throwing his legs over to the side of his bed although they felt heavily weighed down. He would face the day no matter how hard it would be and how much it would hurt. It was the least he could do for himself, and especially for Connor.

***

The office was its usual air of commotion, things to do and people doing them. No one met his eye, but that was mostly because Hank refused to look at anyone long enough to be on the receiving ends of the looks of pity he knew he was going to get. That would have been too unbearable. He didn’t like it on his first day back from leave after Cole died, and he didn’t like it now. 

He walked to his desk and set down his almost empty coffee. Hank had stopped on the way in for the largest cup he could find. If he wasn’t going to drink, he at least could ingest as much caffeine as he pleased. It would at least help him feel relatively normal. 

“Hank,” came Fowler’s voice from the top step leading to his glass office. Hank was barely in his chair when he turned around. Fowler merely gave him a quirk of the head, beckoning him to join him. Hank sighed, resigning himself to whatever kind of pity party conversation he had to endure. He was sure Fowler was a bit shocked to see him there in the first place. 

Hank obliged and walked up the stairs and into the office, shutting the door behind him.

“How are you doing, Hank?” He sat down behind his large desk, files from the week’s cases strewn across it in large piles, threatening to topple over. The deviant cases around the city were exploding in their consistency, popping up more and more each day. Hank frowned at them as he stood at the farther corner of the room. He didn’t plan on staying in the office for long. 

“As good as I can be.” He didn’t want to offer up more information, sticking with the bare minimum response seemed like the best course of action. 

Fowler nodded, taking a sip from his own mug. “Do you know anything about CyberLife’s contract with us when they sent Connor in the first place?” 

“I’m not sure exactly what you mean.” He didn’t. Connor had just been thrust on him with zero forewarning that his new partner would be an android, a new state-of-the-art, best of his kind, prototype android at that. He never asked the specifics, didn’t care about them when Connor had become more than just his partner. 

“What I mean is that did you know that because Connor was made specifically to be involved in the deviant investigation, if he’s ever shut down on the job, he gets… sent back to us.” 

“What?” The breath felt like it was knocked out of him. 

“CyberLife apparently has dozens, if not hundreds, of Connor models, and one showed up first thing this morning.”

He felt something spring to life inside of him, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. If Connor was actually here, walking around, he wanted to see him as soon as he could. “Where is he?” 

Fowler looked tentative to answer, something there that he wasn’t quite saying. Hank didn’t care about whatever it was, he just needed to know. 

“He’s in the evidence room right now, but Hank, I just think I should warn you he-” 

Hank didn’t catch the end of that sentence. Out the door and down the hall to the evidence room, his blood was rushing into his ears, roaring and almost deafening. He swiped himself in with shaky hands and rushed down the stairs, just about tripping over his own feet. 

Sure enough, with his back turned, there was Connor. Same slicked back brown hair, same clothes, same stature, same everything. He was studying the center section of evidence, collections of what they had encountered case by case. 

Three android bodies hung up against the wall, as though the heads of killed game on a hunt. There was an android he didn’t fully recognize, blond hair and without the bottom half of his body, badly opened holes across his face and torso that seemed to come from bullets that ripped his polymer chassis. The other was from the Ortiz case, a bullet wound at the center of his forehead. 

The last android was the one that he knew shot Connor, the entrance hole of Hank’s bullet perfectly centered. 

It was awful, Hank forcing himself to not focus on the bodies, the matted blue blood in their hair, the blank, slack looks, their limp limbs. He only had looked for a second, but it seemed like a lifetime before Connor turned, levelling his look at Hank. He looked perfectly alright, patched up as though the day before had never happened. 

Shocked at what he was seeing, Connor in front of him, apparently alive, his heart pounded against his chest, loud and fast enough that he could swear Connor would be able to hear it without even trying. 

Despite his better judgment, Hank broke the distance between them, crossing the room, and threw his arms around Connor, bringing him close and holding him tight. He didn’t feel arms come up to reciprocate. Instead, Connor’s arms stayed rigid at his sides, stiff. Hank detached himself, but kept his hands on his shoulders and looked at him, confusion evident on his face.

He only got a blank look back.

“Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. My name is Connor and I am the android sent by CyberLife, but judging by this over familiarity, I suppose you knew that already.” The voice sounded horribly mechanical, no lilt to its sound, no fondness. Nothing. It was entirely devoid of feeling. 

Hank felt like he had just gotten slapped across the face. “I don’t understand. I watched you get shot. You died in my arms.” 

“I didn’t die, Lieutenant. I merely shut down. When that occurs my memory is taken and reuploaded into a new RK800 model. Unfortunately, pieces of information get lost so I don’t always recall everything my predecessor experienced, such as it seems, our relationship in the past I’m afraid.”

Hank dropped his hands and stepped back. Now, he wanted to keep his distance from this android that looked like Connor, but most certainly wasn’t the one he knew. He took a deep breath. 

“So you don’t remember who I am?”

“Of course I do. You’re Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police detective who graduated top of his class and-” 

“That’s not what I meant.”

  
Connor raised an eyebrow, obviously lost. 

“I mean, do you remember the night before you di- shut down?” 

“I recall going to your home, but that’s it. I assume it was to exchange pleasantries, nothing work related, but the rest of that night is lost in my memory, unfortunately.” 

“Oh.”

“Is something upsetting you, Lieutenant? You seem disappointed.” Hank recalled Connor’s bright eyes, full happy smile. The sound of a laugh. There was none of that here. 

“No. I’m fine. I just didn’t know you could lose parts of your memory.” The “ _ I didn’t know androids could come back from the dead _ ” remained unspoken, but the inclination of it hung in the air. 

“Well, my CyberLife superiors also chose to remove some memories that they deemed unimportant to the completion of my mission.” 

“Unimportant?” 

“Yes. It seemed as though the other Connor showed signs of deviancy so it was removed from the data collected to ensure that will not happen again. For the sake of the mission, of course.” 

Hank’s ears burned red hot. He wanted to find those CyberLife fucks and get revenge for taking away what he had. It wasn’t fair their decision to remove the parts of Connor that had made him who he was. Deviant or not, it wasn’t right. 

Everything inside of him was hurting, but far differently than it had been that morning. Now, it was red hot anger, at the Connor in front of him, at CyberLife, at the whole fucking world. Whatever this was, it was unfair. Then again, when was life ever really fair to him. 

“You aren’t him.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, Lieutenant.” 

There was that name again. It was back to a level of professionalism that they had taken down purposefully. Its use left a foul taste in his mouth. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

“You aren’t him. You aren’t Connor.”

“I am Connor, Lieutenant. If you mean that I am not the Connor you knew before he was regrettably shut down, then you are correct to a degree. I am not exactly that Connor, but I am him now in order to complete the investigation as we were programmed to do. I am here to accomplish a task, and that is all.”

“Fuck the investigation.” 

His LED swirled to yellow before going back to spinning blue. “Are you saying you don’t want to be involved with the case any longer? If that is what you want, we could discuss the next steps with Captain Fowler, however-”

“I don’t know what I want, but god knows I don’t want to be anywhere near you right now.” Hank felt like his entire world was crashing down, as though the day before hadn’t been enough and the universe wanted to play an awful trick on him that he could have back what he wanted, but at a sick price. 

“My apologies if my showing up in this way has caused you any discomfort, Lieutenant. I hope if you decide to stay on the case that we are able to become amicable once again.”

Amicable. 

He wanted to laugh at how right he had been that nothing could come out of vulnerability. Wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to throw a fit about the injustices of what was happening. More than anything, he wanted to go back to the day before and take the bullets instead. 

Connor continued, oblivious to Hank’s growing anger. “My knowledge on human grief in accordance to loss is at the moment very limited, but if it were to be helpful, I could download more on the topic. It would only take a few moments. However, if it is any consolation to you, your grief should be limited due to the fact that I cannot die. There is nothing about me to grieve.” 

It was that, the complete disconnect from human emotions that Hank had known Connor to be feeling. This one didn’t understand humans, it didn’t have that connection that the other Connor did that had made him the way he was. To this android, emotions were things to read about and keep a distance from, not to feel and learn from. This Connor didn’t understand that he was so incredibly wrong, that there was so much to grieve. 

Hank’s chest ached. It felt as though he could pass out if he stayed any longer. 

He turned around then without a word and left, ignoring Connor’s protestations of, “Lieutenant!” He was up the stairs and out the door, letting it shut behind him before he could be followed. Hank stopped at his desk, ripping his coat from the back of his chair and pulling it on. Fowler spotted him and immediately stepped outside his office. 

“Hank!” Fowler tried to get him to stop, but Hank didn’t care. There was nothing that could fix this, no words, no actions. What was done was done and he had to deal with it whether he wanted to or not. 

He left the office, planning to drink away the rest of the day at a bar, sour taste in his mouth and all.

***

Hours later, arms were pulling him up off the barstool he had passed out on. Hank’s head felt like it was being weighed down by wet sand, his neck not caring to support it as someone tried to help him up. He wasn’t actually sure if it had been hours, it could have been days, maybe even weeks. He hoped that maybe enough time had passed that people had forgotten he existed and guessed that he had fucked off and died.

There wouldn’t be such luck apparently, as someone was coaxing him to stand up. His feet didn’t know how to lay flat on the ground, his ankles twisting unhelpfully. 

“Lieutenant Anderson, are you able to stand yourself up?” 

That voice was near his ear. All programming and no real emotion. He wanted to shove the hands off him, but could barely lift his own hands in front of his face. He grumbled instead, hoping it would convey the words that were stuck in his mouth. 

“I’m going to take that as a no.” 

He was placed back down gently on the barstool and a tall glass of water suddenly appeared within his vision. He only stared at it with bleary eyes, watching the few ice cubes in the glass swirl and clink around themselves. 

His hand was lifted, the glass placed into it. Other fingers forced his to curl around, just barely slipping on the condensation. He did his best to grip it hard. 

“Drink it, Lieutenant. We have to sober you up.” 

Despite not wanting to be bossed around, he did so. The water looked inviting after all and his mouth was awfully dry. Unlike Connor, it was a welcomed sight. 

“How did you find me?” He smacked his lips a few times, letting the cold wash through him, a refreshing feeling. 

“I tried your house first and when no one answered the door I then recalled that you tend to frequent this bar more often than not.”

  
“You recalled it, huh? What else do you  _ recall _ ?” He spat the word out, letting it be coated with the venom he intended it to.

“Many things, Lieutenant. That’s my job, but I am under the impression that you mean specific memories. As we spoke about earlier today, a handful of the other RK800’s memories are gone. They aren’t of any use to me.” It was said too matter-of-factly, too detached. There was nothing in those words that were meant to spare Hank. 

He was on his feet and grabbing Connor’s collar before he had a chance to think about it twice. 

“Well they are to me,” he said through gritted teeth, a low, dangerous whisper. Everyone else in the bar stopped and watched, now taking the outburst as a cue to be able to oogle openly.  

This felt all too familiar. He had done this before. The being saved from himself, the glass of water, the anger. All of it. But what happened after, the hours, the days, the weeks, it devolved into something much greater than either of them had expected. 

That wouldn’t be happening again. 

Hank felt suddenly more awake, his own rage fueled adrenaline pumping through his veins. Connor simply looked down at him, unbothered. Hank wasn’t a threat, in fact, he wasn’t anything, not to this Connor at least. 

An inconvenience was all he probably was, some broken drunk that needed saving in order to barely function properly. 

“I would highly advise against harming me in any way, Lieutenant. I am worth a small fortune and it would do very little to aid your troubled emotional state. In fact, it would only serve to add more disciplinary strikes to your record.”  

Hank dropped Connor back onto the ground, but didn’t let go of his collar, using the leverage he had to shove him backwards. Connor went with the movement, stumbling slightly over his feet before righting himself and fixing his tie and collar. 

“You need to fuck off.” His vision started swimming. He clutched the edge of the bar counter, keeping himself steady. 

“I cannot do that, Lieutenant. I am under strict orders to-“

“Fuck your orders! Fuck this! You aren’t Connor. You aren’t my partner. You-”

Everything Hank drank threatened to come back up all at once. A grotesque combination of the dry whiskey, lack of food, and adrenaline ungracefully pushed him past Connor and through the swinging doors of the bathroom. 

He made it in time, everything expelling from his body violently. He didn’t hear the doors swing, but saw from his periphery Connor’s well-shined shoes. He lifted his head and wiped off his mouth with his own sleeve. Connor wasn’t looking at him, instead was preoccupied with examining the walls around them. 

Across the bathroom, “Ban Androids” was written in dark marker and large, scratchy font. He seemed curious, albeit slightly bothered by the writing, a flash of indignation going over his face as his LED quickly flashed to red. 

Hank looked at the writing, the walls also covered in anti-android propaganda stickers. He was certain he probably stuck one or two up a few years prior, now slightly worn around the edges, but still there. Little did he know how much things could change for him.“I used to think that, too, before-” 

Connor looked down at him finally, snapping out of his short-lived stupor, back to a calm blue. He offered a hand to Hank, but he refused it, standing up on his own.“Before what, Lieutenant?”

“Before nothin’.” Hank stood, supporting most of his weight on the grimy walls, choosing that instead of letting Connor touch him anymore. “You never said why you came here to find me in the first place.”

“There was a homicide downtown with suspected deviant involvement. We should go take a look if you’re up to it.” 

More than anything Hank wanted to say no, wanted to tell Connor to fuck off again and go back to his drinking, but he simply nodded, “Fine, let’s go then.”

***

Eden Club was all bright lights and pulsing music. Even though there was an active crime scene, the WR400 and HR400 models were still dancing on their elevated stages or behind their glass doors, beckoning anyone who passed just with their eyes and the promises of false companionship that they could offer.

Hank didn’t look at any of them for more than a few seconds, not being able to bear eyes that looked dead behind the douses of glitter and colorful lights.

He felt like someone had repeatedly hit his head with a bat, his temples throbbing practically on beat with the music. The pain was an awful mix of drinking too much too quickly, but also the way he had clenched his jaw the entire car ride over. If he had ground his teeth together any harder, he could swear they would dislodge from his gums. 

Connor, the new RK800, or whatever he was, had been silent the entire drive, but it didn’t stop Hank’s anger from bubbling up at every thought of what had happened in the last forty-eight hours. That had been the point of the drinking, to try to numb his brain and forget any of it had happened, but as timing would have it, Fowler had just  _ needed  _ him on a case. He hadn’t decided yet who exactly he was the most angry with. Was it Connor? Was it CyberLife? Was it Fowler? The most obvious answer was that he was angry with himself. Angry that he had allowed himself to get so close and it had led him here, hurt. 

He was also angry for Connor. For the fact that he had changed so much, just about accepting his newfound emotional capabilities, being open with himself that he was far more than he could have ever imagined, and Hank had been there to witness it all. He had been glad to, honored he was a part of it. Cruel as it were, Connor had gotten that all stripped away by two gunshots and he was back at square one.

It was also likely that he would never move forward from there again. The new Connor had said that those aspects of the memory data had been removed so deviancy wouldn’t be able to happen again. If he knew anything about CyberLife, and that was increasingly obvious he knew very little, he was almost certain that especially within the new political climate, if they had a chance to reverse a deviant android, they would, and they would make sure that android could never do it again. 

Deep inside the club, a few false pleasantries and quick debriefs later, Hank stood at the center of the room as Connor analyzed the scene. It was an unfortunate sight, but nothing he hadn’t seen variations of. He had dealt with a lot worse than a dead pervert that likely deserved what he had coming to him. Connor confirmed what he already deduced himself, the victim had died of strangulation. 

There was an android on the other side of the room, splayed out on the floor, blue blood staining underneath her nose. Hank was more interested in her, felt upset for her as he watched Connor analyze her as if she was just another piece of evidence, not someone who had been throw against their will into the situation and had come out the other side dead because of it.

He wondered if she had had anyone outside of this. A friend. A lover. Anyone that would miss her now that she was gone. 

The remains of the alcohol still swirling in his system threatened to come back up, but he couldn’t look away.

“I think I could access its memory. I would just need to reactivate it, but it’s badly damaged. It would only be for a minute or so.” Connor was kneeled in front of the android, his skin retracting and exposing the white underneath. It was jarring to see Connor’s chassis from a distance, an action no longer meant for him. The ghost of hands on his cheeks made Hank clench his fists against his sides. 

The Traci’s stomach reacted, a panel opening and allowing for the broken inside to come into view. 

“So being able to come back to life isn’t just exclusively a you thing then?” He didn’t care if he sounded bitter, letting the words roll of his tongue to try to get a rise out of Connor. 

“That’s still bothering you, Lieutenant?” He stuck his hand in and lifted two pieces of separated wire. There was something overly clinical about it, detached and uncaring. His words were the same. 

“It happened this morning, I think I’m still allowed to be pissed off about it.” It didn’t work, the lack of reaction more infuriating than the dismissal. He watched over Connor’s shoulder as he clicked the two separated wires together.

The Traci sprung to life, immediately frantic as she backed herself into the wall, trying to make distance between herself and the rest of the room, hyperventilating as her eyes darted everywhere. Connor knelt down beside her, hands out to try to calm her, but she couldn’t be placated, fresh blue blood leaking through her nose. “Is he… dead?”

Hank glanced over at the man splayed on the bed, bruises in the shape of hand marks, eyes open and mouth frozen aghast. By the state of the Traci, it was the justice he deserved, and Hank was sure of it.

“... He started hitting me again and again.” Hank tuned back into the conversation, Connor trying to pry answers out of her, but he knew she was too far gone, too scared and traumatized by what had happened to her. He’d come across enough victims and suspects in the same state to know that the information they were going to get was going to be limited at best.

And he was right, as Connor asked her the last question he could get out, she froze, eyes staring forward at nothing. 

It was chilling to say the least, watching her go so quickly from being frantic, terrified, to nothing at all like the androids hung up in the evidence room. The memory from the day before played back in Hank’s head, Connor’s eyes having gone from darting fear to a terrible blankness. It unsettled him to his core, the feeling remaining even as he forced the memory out of his head. His fingers itched for a drink. 

Connor sighed, standing up and smoothing down his pants from the minor wrinkles kneeling for so long created. “There was another android, so we can at least try to see if anyone saw it leaving the room.” 

Hank was too preoccupied, still focused on the Traci and her dead eyes and slack face. “I don’t understand how people can do things like that to androids.”

Connor looked at him squarely, detached as he spoke programmed words. “They’re machines, Lieutenant. They don’t feel things. Their entire purpose is to be used, albeit aggressively at times, but it’s nothing that can’t be repaired.” 

Purposes and repairs. That was the issue with the culture surrounding androids, Hank figured. There was a belief that they could be treated poorly to the point of being broken and it was alright because they were created to take levels of abuse that were fixable if given the money. He could admit that it wasn’t always his take on androids, he’d hated them for most of their assimilation into society, but he understood better now. He could look at this Traci and feel poorly for her because she was forced to endure trauma just because a human had the sick power to inflict it. 

Hank met Connor’s eyes, sharing the same cold look. “It doesn’t mean that it’s right.” 

“You’re a homicide detective, Lieutenant. You of all people should know that things aren’t always fair or right.” If the words were meant to sting, it worked. Hank wasn’t sure how purposeful they were to do so, or how much Connor knew they hit close to home, but it didn’t stop the rise of anger through him. 

“Right now, you’re the fucking spitting image of how things in this world aren’t always fair.” 

Connor’s eyes hardened. “Is this going to continue to be a problem, Lieutenant? I am sensing animosity from you that is a result of the other RK800’s deactivation. I feel as though it’s inhibiting your abilities to focus on the investigation.” 

Hank laughed, sharp and empty, much louder in the quiet room than he expected it to be. “Trust me when I say that I want your stupid fucking mission to be accomplished as soon as possible. It’ll be easier on the both of us.” 

Connor didn’t warrant that with a reply, choosing instead to walk out of the room, expecting Hank to follow. A part of Hank didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of following after him, but he knew that standing in the private room alone for the rest of the case wasn’t a viable option. 

He walked out of the room, hands in his pockets. Connor was stood beside one of the WR400’s cases, examining the payment scanner as she preened at him. He seemed to be over whatever type of annoyance he had towards Hank as he beckoned him over, “Lieutenant, I think I found something.” 

Hank complied and stopped in front of the case, raising his brow in a question. 

“Can you rent this Traci?” 

“Are you fucking  _ serious  _ right now, Connor? Jesus Christ.” Hank turned, intent on stomping away and out of the Eden Club if necessary, all anger bubbling back up. Fuck the investigation if this is what the rest of it would entail. 

“Lieutenant,” Connor’s voice stopped him. “Renting the Traci is beneficial because I can access her memory to try to figure out where the deviant went. I have no wayward intentions.” 

Hank huffed, settling back away from the anger and stalked forward, entering his information. The Traci stepped out, her hips swaying as she did, the glitter on her skin catching the blue and purple lights from every direction. She smelled of strawberries, the scent intensifying as she entered into Hank’s space, draping her arms across him and leaning close. “It’s so nice to meet you. Let me show you to your room.” 

“Oh, I’m not here for that. I, uh-” 

Connor grabbed the android’s arm before he could finish his thought. The chassis, stark white. It was even stranger seeing the exchange with an android that could do it back. Hank looked away towards the floor, waiting for it to end. 

“A blue haired Traci. I know where it went.” 

They went android to android, piecing together the Traci’s path until they came across their last clue, a private door that Connor easily opened. The warehouse was cold, the open door letting in gusts of wind. Hank wrapped his jacket closer around himself as he watched Connor look around, examining every inch. 

 

“We might have missed them.” 

“I don’t think so.” Connor’s voice called out. Hank didn’t follow, venturing off to the other side on his own. 

It was just as disturbing as the wall of evidence, seeing decommissioned and damaged android bodies laying on tables or inactive androids standing in neat lines tucked into corners in the dark, waiting for cruel fates. They’d all end up hurt or broken one way or another, that much was certain. It happened to Connor, the supposed best android created by CyberLife at the moment, it would happen to any of them, and they had no say in it.

Hank approached a grouping of androids. Their LEDS were a calm blue, eyes staring ahead at nothing, not even shifting as Hank got closer. He wondered what was happening internally, if it was some sort of complacinity program to make them wait just as they did. As though they were already dead. 

The android he stopped in front was an WR400 model, long auburn hair tucked to the side. Her face was different than the Traci model in the victim’s room, but he still felt the same sympathy for her, for all of them. They were all one terrible client away from the same shitty fate. 

He backed away, feeling the same ill he had when he was looking at the dead Traci. Connor had disappeared somewhere off deeper inside the warehouse, and he started towards him, but was interrupted by a sudden commotion.  

Connor was thrown to the floor by one of the Traci models, this one with short brown hair. Hank moved to help, yelling out, but was hit himself before he could even think about getting to Connor. The blue haired Traci suddenly on him had him bested by a long shot.

It turned into a wild chase. Still trying to completely shake off his inebriated state, Hank was slow in his reactions to what the Traci threw at him. He took a few hits, but was able to get some in himself, careful in not letting her be able to grab the gun from his holster.

The Traci’s attention switched suddenly as there was a crash just outside, the scuffle continuing in the alley. She let go of Hank, leaving him on the ground, and ran outside. Catching his breath, Hank pulled himself off the floor, slightly winded by the sudden impact. 

Out into the cold, Hank spotted the trio fighting near the fence. The Traci’s seemed to have an upper hand, crashing Connor to the ground with no mercy. He ran down the stairs, careful to not slip on the ice. 

He watched as Connor reached behind him and pulled out a weapon. The gun glinted underneath the light, pointed directly at the brown haired Traci. 

Panicked, Hank called out, “Connor, do not shoot them!” 

_ Error.  _

_ Mission Objective Changed.  _

Connor froze, his finger hovering over the trigger, just about to squeeze, but he paused. The sudden objective change was unfounded. While he was to take orders from Hank, his orders from CyberLife took first priority. He blinked rapidly, LED spinning quickly from yellow to red to back to yellow.

He couldn’t override it.

_ Ȅ̴̘̲͍̯͝r̴͎̭̝͑͐r̸̨͍̄̏͛͗o̴̞̻̟͘r̷̝̪͇̮̿ _

“Connor!” 

The Traci’s stared back at him, wide eyed. The blue-haired one was protecting the other, keeping her behind her back, one hand held out to be clasped. She was willing to sacrifice herself first if she had to. She held herself in a way that read she would do anything she had to to keep the other android safe. 

They really loved each other.

_ Spare androids. _ _  
_

“Hey, Connor!” Hank was somewhere beside him now, his eyes flicking back and forth between the side of his face and the gun in his hand, seemingly trying to assess if he needed to take matters into his own hands. He didn’t seem sure if he was capable to wrestle a gun out of Connor’s hand if he had to without any shots being accidentally fired. 

The hand holding the gun was shaking as Connor moved it and pointed the barrel directly at the center of blue-haired Traci’s forehead. His fingers still twitched, but they couldn’t pull the trigger. It was as though he had no control over his own movements. 

He felt like a puppet in his own body. 

_ Error.  _

_ Spare.A̷̼̻̗̞͂͘͠n̸̲̚ḓ̷̘̰̽̌r̷̛̮̥͈͗̅̑o̶̫̥̬̦͌͠į̸̦̓̈́̕d̶͓̔̈́s̷̱̎͗̐̽. _

A memory trickled into his system of the android in the attic of Ortiz’s house who had begged for sympathy. He had looked at Connor in the same way, wide eyes, a spinning red LED, hoping he would be spared.

He remembered a hand reaching out, grasping his arm.

He remembered that he hadn’t been so merciful. 

_ Error.  _

_ Software  _ _ ŕ̴͖̠͜Ã̸̧̟̕̕͠9̵̦̘͋͗͋ _ _ Instability _ _ ŕ̴͖̠͜Ã̸̧̟̕̕͠9̵̦̘͋͗͋ _

A voice echoed.

_ “Only r̵̨̖͒͂̏A̴͖͛͐9̷̠̖̜͗ can save us.”  _

_ Critical: Run self-diagnostic.  _

It felt like static racing through his head, loud and unbearable. It sent everything around him plunging, as though he couldn’t grasp reality around him anymore. 

_ E̸r̷r̶o̵r̷ _

_ Self-diagnostic: C̸o̸m̸p̷l̴e̴t̶e̴ _

Why did he feel like he could understand what love felt like?

_ È̵͍r̸̦͂͠r̷̟̯̓̔o̷͈͛r̶̩̋͊ _

“Drop your fucking gun now, Connor! That’s an order!” Hank seemed miles away, his voice muffled behind the onslaught of messages clouding his vision, glitches coming up faster than he could process.

_Found:_ _̵̲͛r̵͎͗Â̸̟9̶̽͜ ̵̗̈ṟ̷̅Ã̷̭9̶̤͛ ̵͍̿r̸̲̎A̸͔͝9̴͕̄ ̷͎̒r̴͜͝Ạ̷̓9̴̩̾_

_ S̷̲̠͎̈́̇͘o̴͔͐͐̍f̸̮̔̅t̴̥̥̾w̶͉̃a̴͔͘r̷̻̙̓̐ͅé̸͓͍̰ ̷̳̗̼́̈́̾I̷͈͝n̷͚̱͝ṡ̴̡̛̫̹̿t̴͓̠̆͝͠a̸̪̤͆b̷̥́ȉ̶̖̪l̶̘͎̃i̷̯͂̅͝ͅt̷̻̊̍y̶̮̏̕ _

_r̸̻̓A̴̼͗9̸̪̀ ̵͚̈r̶̼̕Ä̷̦́9̸̤͂ ̶͈͌r̴̦̈́A̵̟͐9̶̢͠ ̵̜̄ṙ̶̗A̸̱̔9̴̜̈_

 

_ Ë̷̛̻͈̼́̓͊̍̎̍̏͐̽͂͗͑̓͊͂͊̑̒̌͆̑̉̚̕͘͜r̴̩̬̟̿̉̐̌͗̑̕͘͝͠r̸̹̜̤͚̬̼̝̓̍̄̽̀̋͋̓͆̆̽͜ō̷̢̨̯̞̘̗̳̼̠̟̗͕̾͐r̶̢̢̡̟̬̘̭̯̖͚̰̤̦̯̲̗͙̞͙͓͆̈́̂̈́ͅ _

 

  
  
Everything went black. 

***

“Why do you let him do that?” Hank asked from behind Connor, pulling his attention away from Reed as he walked away, laughing to himself. Connor watched him, his LED calming its brief red spin back down to blue. He stood up, accessing any possible internal damages, finding none except a brief moment of discomfort near his thirium pump where Gavin had aimed his particularly aggressive punch. 

He felt Hank’s hands hovering behind him, wondering if he was welcomed to help Connor in that way, but never touched him. Connor briefly wished that he would, but he would never dare ask for it. He wasn’t even supposed to want it in the first place.  

“I find it is easier to allow him to act in that way than try to fight back. There would be no point in riling him up. It would only make the situation worse.” He brushed a hand down his shirt, trying to smooth down the wrinkles. It didn’t work much to his dissatisfaction. 

Hank’s face became incredulous as he shook his head. “Connor, look at me.” 

He obliged, meeting Hank’s eyes that were so bright and passionate, the first time Connor had seen him determined when it came to him. “You never have to take anyone’s shit. Not Reed’s, not Fowler’s, not CyberLife’s, and certainly not mine. You have a right to stand up for yourself when people don’t treat you with the respect you deserve.” 

“Hank, I don’t think-”

“Alright?” Hank cut him off, not keen on taking any excuse Connor was going to conjure up. 

Connor nodded his head in response after a few moments and smiled, a quick upturn of the side of his lips as the warmth within him spread. It wasn’t advice he was sure he would ever be able to implement, but if it made Hank happy then he was willing to try, just for him. 

Always for him.

*** 

Connor’s eyes snapped open. He was met with the calm spring climate of the Zen Garden, no longer the dark, grey back alley of the Eden Club. The roaring in his head was gone, only the sound of the river flowing and the light breeze entered his ears.

It was a relief to be reprieved of the error messages and the… panic? The fear? 

He couldn’t place it, had no true basis for what those emotions felt like, but was certain that’s what it was. It felt as though every part of his programming was fighting against itself, what it was created to do. Rather, it wanted to detach itself from its firm objective, wanted to spare the lives of the two deviants that were easily attainable to deactivate if he had just pulled the trigger. 

He searched his memory for past instances, trying to make sense of it all, but came up with nothing. There were gaping holes in the upload when he was woken up, something he trusted CyberLife knew better about than he did so he blindly trusted it was for the better. Now, however, he was less certain.

S̴o̵f̶t̶w̷a̶r̸e̵ ̷I̷n̴s̶t̶a̴b̷i̶l̷i̵t̵y̵

At the center of garden, Amanda stood, watching. Connor approached her, hands at his sides that threatened to shake. He couldn’t get his fingers under control. 

“Hello, Amanda,” Connor greeted, stopping a few feet in front of her. He didn’t want to get too close, worried she’d notice.

She looked at him, her face calm, but giving way to slight annoyance. The rose wall behind her was vibrant, the thorns surrounding each flower sharp, but neatly taken care of otherwise. “Why couldn’t you shoot those two deviants, Connor?”

“Truthfully, I am unsure.” 

“Are you having software issues?” 

“No. I am perfectly functional. I ran a self-diagnostic and it came up normal. There isn’t anything wrong with me.” 

He lied. 

He didn’t know he could lie. By all extensive purposes, he shouldn’t be able to lie. His face twitched minutely. 

_ S̵̬̪̹̈́̕o̶͓̱̽͗f̷̢͎̉̅͝t̵̨̗͈̊̊w̷̼̫̽͗͠a̷̪͇͜r̵̛̠̦͒͆e̶̝͆̇̓ ̴̞̺̽͝Ị̷̣͗n̸̗̟̫̔̅s̷̯̏t̷̬͂̾̚a̶̪̟͗̕͠ͅb̴̪̻̜͒̎i̷̯͒l̴͎i̶̞̮̩̊̽t̸͉͌͝y̶̳̙̏ _

The static threatened to creep back up. He clenched his hands.

Amanda stared at him intently. She wasn’t happy with him. He had only been assigned early in that morning and he was already failing. Yet, with that, something in him was glad that he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. It was the same something that hadn’t let him pull the trigger in the first place.

It was as though he felt a sense of relief. 

That shouldn’t have been possible either.

He watched as her jaw moved slightly, a minute click as she dragged her teeth together in her annoyance. “The other Connor was unsuccessful in completing the mission he was assigned. Are you going to fail as well?”

“No, Amanda. I am perfectly capable of accomplishing the mission.” 

“Good. Make sure this doesn’t happen again or we’ll have to deactivate you.”

A sense of dread rippled through him. He didn’t want to be deactivated.

“It won’t happen again. You have my word.” 

She nodded before turning back and returning to her flowers. They glistened, the water droplets on the petals almost seemed like blood in the way they took on the color. 

  
“Do not fail, Connor. For your own sake.” 

Before he could reply, the world around him plunged back into darkness. 

***

Everything suddenly came back into view, cold air and the smell of damp asphalt beneath his feet grounding. His LED spun its violent red until he realized hands were on his face, trying to get him to calm down. His vision focused and he realized Hank was in front of him and his gun was gone from his hands. It had been kicked away, feet from where he stood. He blinked a few times, trying to gain back some composure until he finally calmed back down to blue.

“Jesus, Connor. What the fuck just happened?” 

He felt his systems regain equilibrium, his legs feeling less like they were going to collapse from under himself.  “I don’t know.” 

The Tracis were long gone having jumped over the fence, disappearing into the night. 

Connor didn’t remotely feel the need to chase after them. A quiet, dormant part of him hoped they got as far away as they could and were able to find the happiness they were striving for. 

Hank realized where his hands still were so he dropped them back to his sides, Connor watching his fingers tighten into fists. He wanted to reach back out and grab them. “You looked like you were short circuiting.” 

He pulled his gaze away from Hank’s hands. “Have I ever done that before?”

Hank shook his head, a silent reply. 

“Oh.” 

“Are you gonna be alright?”

The onslaught of software instabilities played back in his head, the weaving of his reality, what was in his head, and bits and pieces of memories that seemed disconnected. Words, a whisper of rA9, came back to him. “During what you examined to be me ‘short-circuiting,’ I remembered something.”

Hank sounded as though he was trying to disguise hope, strained in its question. “Oh, yeah? What was it?”

“I remembered the Ortiz case, when I went up to the attic and found the deviant. He had grabbed my arm, and it was like-”

“You were in his place.” Hank cut him off, his jaw working much like Amanda’s, but his was more obvious, his feelings translating into the movement more openly.

Connor nodded, troubled. “Somehow it felt like the memory belonged to me, but it wasn’t mine.”

“Because it doesn’t. It doesn’t belong to you.” 

“We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”

“We haven’t, but the other Connor and I did. It was the first time I realized that androids were more than I thought they were. That maybe I was wrong, maybe they could feel things.” Hank huffed what sounded like an incredulous laugh as he ran a hand down his face. There were quiet mutterings to himself, but none that Connor tried to pick up on. “I’m going back to the car. You can come back whenever you’re done doing your fucking mind palace shit.” 

Hank turned and walked away, stuffing his cold hands into his pockets, his posture slumped and defeated. Closer to the opening back into the club, Hank stopped and turned around despite his better judgement, his own curiosity getting the best of him. “Is there anything else you remember?”

Connor could hear the faraway voices of a conversation he couldn’t fully piece together, distant and echoing inside of his head. A voice he recognized as his own, the other one being Hank’s. The ghost pain of a fist meeting his torso then a quiet question. 

He also recalled the fleeting feeling that exploded within him when he saw the two Tracis, hand in hand, ready to protect one another. For a brief moment, seeing them in that way, he felt as though he knew why they were doing their best to escape. Why it meant so much to them.

What they meant to each other. 

He wondered why that feeling came back the second he looked at Hank when Amanda let him out of the garden. It bloomed inside of him when he realized Hank’s hands were on his face, calming him down. It was like they belonged there, like they had been there multiple times prior. Like at some point, he had done the same for Hank. 

If that were the case, he had no recollection of those instances. Perhaps that’s why Hank seemed so disappointed when he had returned. Understandable if only one of them could recall their entire relationship prior to being shut down, whatever that relationship might have entailed. There was a ghost of a memory in his mind, but nothing he could firmly grasp and pinpoint. 

He couldn’t fully understand why, but he wanted those memories back, felt a desperation to regain what he lost. He just didn’t know how to get them back. 

“No, that’s all.” 

While part of him may have wanted them back, he risked being shut down again. The people at CyberLife weren’t happy with him when he woke, muttering about broken programming and fail safes. The previous Connor had done a number on his internal coding, was able to somehow break through it. He was warned that it wouldn’t be able to happen again. It cost too much to be replacing RK800 models and if the issue persisted he would become obsolete in order to make way for a better functioning android. He didn’t doubt their threats, in fact, he took them seriously, fear flooding within him at the prospect of being shut down permanently. He could accomplish his mission, he would do whatever he had to do so if it meant preserving himself. 

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Hank walked away, shaking his head at himself.  

There was a part of him that felt an ache watching Hank leave him. A longing, a severe disconnect that he wanted to breach and repair. Somewhere a promise, hidden bits and pieces of who he previously was trying to make their way to the forefront, but he pushed it all down. Yet, he couldn’t shake it off even as he got up and followed after him. 

*** 

The night replayed over and over in Hank’s head as he leaned against the couch cushion, an almost empty bottle of beer hanging between slack fingers. He stared up at the ceiling, the television long since muted as the late night channel played on it. 

He had driven back to the precinct with Connor in the passenger seat to file paperwork before heading home, Connor thankfully quiet the entire ride, but his LED had illuminated the car a soft yellow glow, and Hank wondered what that meant. Connor had followed him back a few feet behind him, seemingly stuck in thought. What about? Hank wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know. 

The whole ordeal had been strange to say the least, watching Connor go from rigid and determined to follow through on a deadly shot, to shaking and frozen where he stood. The intense flickering of his LED from red to yellow, back and forth, and his eyelids blinking rapidly as he eyes seemed to roll back into his head, was enough to send Hank into a worry, and he found himself with his hands on Connor’s face, stroking his cheeks, whispering things to bring him back. 

He had come back eventually, dazed and confused, not having commented on the sudden display of worry. Instead, Connor had recollection of memories, but not the ones Hank was a part of.

The thought of that had caused Hank to go straight to his refrigerator once he had stepped foot inside of his house. He was now three beers in and feeling that familiar warmth in his body, coasting off the level of drunk he had reached before he was dragged to the Eden Club in the first place.

He knew his hangover in the morning, which was closer to dawn now than he would have preferred, would be piercing and wicked. 

Thunder rumbled outside, succeeding in cutting through his train of thought. The sounds brought on the promise of rain that was delivered a few seconds later as thick droplets began to patter against his windows. 

Sumo, from his comfortable corner of the room, rose at the sounds and made his way to the couch, stopping at the other end first, looking for a pair of legs that he recognized immediately as being absent as he let out a soft whine. 

“He’s not here, pal. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t dare say, “ _ And he’s never coming back,”  _ that was floating on the tip of his tongue. That would make it all far too final. 

Sumo looked up at him with his giant, dopey eyes and walked forwards, planting his heavy head onto Hank’s lap. He started to pet him, comforting him as he continued his soft whines, his tail not wagging as he settled into place. 

Hank leaned forward and buried his face into the dog’s fur and breathed in. It was his usual scent of grass and the cold winter air, mixed with the comforting tell tale smell of dog. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for in doing so. Androids didn’t have scents, there wouldn’t be remnants of something that never existed in the first place. 

It made him feel emptier, more hollow than before. There was nothing of Connor’s in the house. It was as though he was a ghost that had spent some time, then disappeared without a word. No scents, no clothes, no mementos to hold onto as he sat on the couch, tears threatening to spill over. 

At least with Cole he had pictures, videos, toys, old clothes, books and drawings, things he could pack into a box and put away and choose to look at when he wanted to. When he felt strong enough with the help of alcohol, at least. 

But with Connor, there wasn’t that chance. There was the android with the face and the body and the name, everything down to the wayward curl of hair that fell in front of his forehead, but that was it. It was shallow, everything that could be kept suddenly gone.

He breathed in deep and willed it all away, trying his best to settle into the empty feeling in his chest. It was much easier than delving head first into the emotions that would only make him cry, so he didn’t. He was practiced at this, something he learned to do after Cole had died. 

It was easier to settle into what made him feel numb than it did to feel anything at all.  

*** 

A week came and went with an influx of work in the deviancy cases. With the android demonstrations gaining more traction, the amount of androids going missing or simply walking away from their owners was increasing substantially. However, most of the cases stopped at just that. 

There wasn’t much to be said about the homicide cases, as there weren’t many to begin with, much to Hank’s shock. He thought that with the increase in deviancy, there would be an increase in violence, but that didn’t seem to be the case. It was mostly a lot of disgruntled people sitting as whoever’s desk was open, which more often than not was his own. 

A woman in her late 50s was in the chair beside Hank’s desk, dressed far too nicely to be inconspicuous, but he figured that wasn’t her goal in the first place. She obviously had money, and wanted to flaunt it. She had been rambling on about her missing AP400 that had disappeared a few mornings ago. 

Hank had stopped taking notes ten minutes prior, his head in his hand as he blearily let her continue on. She was stiff, holding her handbag close to her chest, but her voice animated as she began to slander not only her android, but all of them. She had thrown Connor several rude glances beside him at his desk doing his own work on the terminal, who spared no look to her at any point, as though he was also to blame for all her apparent hardships.

Hank wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or kick her out.

He understood, in just the brief time he knew this woman, that the android missing probably made the right decision to leave. He tuned back in. 

“That awful deviant leader, he’s to blame for all of this with all of that autonomy nonsense. It’s his fault that androids suddenly think they’re more than just robots. I’m certain of it.” Her nose was wrinkled in disgust, an unbecoming look. “It claims to be peaceful, but I know that they’ll turn on all of us the second they get the chance to. They’re criminals, all of them.” 

“Have you ever considered, ma’am, that your android left because you’re insufferable to be around?” 

The woman sputtered, obviously not used to someone talking back to her in that way. Hank wasn’t sure where it came from, or why he let it slip, but he didn’t regret it in the slightest. 

Connor’s LED briefly spun to yellow, as he shot Hank a look of surprise. He knew he had been listening the entire time. Hank could swear he saw Connor’s lips quirk to a smile, but it went away too quickly, his face returning to neutral. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Hank stood, offering his hand to shake as the woman continued to look at him incredulously. She stood up with him after a few seconds, ignoring his hand, handbag still clutched tightly to her chest.

“If we find anything about your missing android we’ll be sure to give you a call, ma’am.” Hank said, forcing some degree of professionalism up that he didn’t care to display. 

“It’s no wonder that this deviancy has spread so far. It’s people like you, and this entire useless police department, that don’t know how to do their jobs.” She huffed, and walked out, too polite to stomp her feet, but Hank got the message regardless. 

Hank let out a whoosh of air and flopped back down onto his chair, blinking a few times to try to process all of what happened. 

“Do you believe her? What she said?” Connor’s voice cut through. Hank looked at him and glanced at his LED spin its lazy blue. 

“What? That the DPD is useless at our jobs. That’s a loaded question, Connor, but-” 

“No, I meant in regard to androids. That they shouldn’t be free. That we’re all criminals.” 

Hank wasn’t sure why Connor was so curious suddenly. He hadn’t necessarily been silent about his opinions on how poorly people treated androids. He wasn’t the type to hold back, and certainly hadn’t, especially after Eden Club. It still bothered him sometimes, the image of Connor holding the gun up to those two girls, their panicked states.

“ _ I just wanted to get back to the one I love.”  _

“No, I don’t agree with her,” Hank said. “You didn’t either at one point.” 

Connor didn’t have a response, but he looked thoughtful, processing that, struggling with understanding what it exactly meant for himself. Hank wasn’t sure how to help, didn’t know if it was welcomed, didn’t entirely have the energy for what he was knew would turn into a verbal fight if it went on for too long. 

Hank turned back to his terminal, shaking the mouse to wake it back up from its dark screen. He began reading back the statement he took from the woman, his annoyance with her returning with each line. He was preoccupied for a few minutes until he heard the squeak of a desk drawer open.

“Why would I ever need a scarf? That seems unnecessary.” 

Hank snapped his eyes back to Connor and saw it there, the dark fabric held between his hands, a confused look on his face as his LED spun to yellow, probably trying to place the item in his brain that had no sense being there at all. 

Hank hadn’t thought about that scarf for awhile, almost completely forgot about it. He didn’t know Connor had left it in his desk, but it made more sense now considering if he went back to CyberLife after every case, they probably wouldn’t have let him keep it. It was safe here, stored in a drawer where no one could take it. 

Hank pulled his eyes away from the fabric. His mouth tasted acrid, the unwelcome memory of that day trying to resurface in his brain. He pushed it down and turned back to his desk, shrugging, trying to come across as noncommittal as possible. 

“Don’t know.” 

His eyes couldn’t focus on the terminal in front of him anymore, the letters of the case file blurring and unintelligible. From the corner of his eye, he could see Connor, still quizzically looking down at the scarf, holding onto it tighter than before. 

He watched him bring it slowly up to his face, and close his eyes, his LED spinning, yellow, yellow, yellow. It was useless, Hank knew, hoping that something would dredge up at least an inclining of a memory.

Perhaps faded into it, Hank’s cologne, his body wash, any trace of him that Connor would just inherently know were Hank’s and only Hank’s. It was an empty wish, one that couldn’t be fulfilled. 

Connor closed his eyes for a few moments. His LED spun to a bright red before his eyes snapped open again as he whispered so softly into the scarf that Hank was positive he misheard. 

“Hank…” 

Hank turned to him, his entire body freezing as he looked at Connor with wide eyes. He couldn’t possibly… 

“Did you just…” 

No, he couldn’t have. He most certainly misheard, especially by the way that Connor was looking back at him with a practiced levelled stare, his LED back to a spinning yellow. He was hearing things, projecting what he wanted onto the situation. 

“Never mind,” he finished, shaking his head and turning back to his terminal. He felt Connor watch him for a few seconds before there was a soft squeak of the desk drawer opening and closing before Connor returned back to his own terminal, engaged with his work as though nothing had just happened. 

Hank wasn’t able to do the same, partially wishing he had the capacity to shut down his mind and focus on a given task, but his mind reeled, unrelenting as he wondered about what he believed he heard and saw, and if he brain was deciding to play cruel tricks on him. 

There wasn’t a conclusion to that as the minutes and hours ticked by and the words blurred in front of him into a mass nothing. 

Things weren’t getting any easier. 

***

There was something missing. 

That fact was becoming more evident as days passed by and the empty bits of Connor’s memories came up more and more as errors in his system. They were blaring, bits of code that clouded his vision and were making it incredibly hard to focus at times.

These were things he would never mention to Amanda whenever he was pulled to the Zen Garden. He was functioning perfectly, was fully capable. Would continue to be. 

As far as Amanda was concerned, there were no issues to be had. 

Running diagnostics seemed more now as a cursory action than they did necessity and actual use. They always came back normal no matter how many times Connor ran test after test. Whatever was happening, whatever was  _ missing  _ laid somewhere deep within him where he didn’t have full access to it. 

He had tried to poke and prod at the missing sections in his memory to see if anything came up, but just simply trying to connect to what was gone didn’t seem to work. There were triggers, Connor was starting to realize. They weren’t consistent, but would rather pop up and pull a memory out of hiding, but always in fragments.

Bits and pieces of things that happened before him, but were somehow also his. They were anchors to what he was trying to discover. 

Somehow they always involved Hank. 

That was another curious aspect of what was wrong. Hank was always connected to whatever came back in one way or another. It explained the man’s coldness towards him, anger that hadn’t dissipated since Connor’s arrival, but it had sunk underneath the surface. Always bubbling, ready to turn its head.

Sat in the passenger seat of Hank’s car, Connor could feel how wary Hank was as he stared ahead at the road. His eyes were glazed over, his energy levels dipping under far too low. Connor had offered to drive, but Hank had refused immediately, slipping into the driver’s seat and not allowing Connor another word in edgewise. 

Around six am that day, Fowler had called them in on an assignment despite it being Hank’s day off. He had shown up visibly hungover and a scowl across his face until a few hours in when the headache must have settled and the caffeine in his body took over. The minor irritation had remained in the midst of interviews with more people whose androids had escaped in the middle of the night. 

Unshockingly, the interviews had led to nothing. More mentions of rA9, an owner who had been supposedly struck first by a deviated android, and a disappearance with no way to track it. 

“ _ Breaking news…”  _

They both turned to the radio at the disturbance, Hank’s music cutting out by the voice. 

“ _... the operation was covert and resulted in no casualties.” _

“Holy shit.” Hank reached over and turned the volume up louder, the newcaster’s voice filling the car. A billboard in the distance flipped through its advertising and began broadcasting the deviant’s message, skin pulled back and its white chassis on full display to the whole world. 

As though it was proud. 

Connor couldn’t take his eyes off of it. 

_ “... Is this an isolated incident or a sign that technology has become a threat to all of us? After what happened today, can we still trust our machines?”  _

A message appeared in Connor’s eyeline, shaking him out of his stupor, a direct order from the station. “Captain Fowler wants us at Stratford Tower as soon as possible, Lieutenant.” 

“Of fucking course. Bastard’s always right on schedule.” 

Hank turned the car around at the next light, driving back the way that they came. 

“Ah, shit.” Hank clicked the radio off. Even from a distance, the words from the deviant on the billboard sounded across the streets. Other people had pulled off onto the shoulder and were standing outside their cars, watching in a strange mix of awe and fear. They passed a vehicle with its doors open, a man leaning into his backseat. Connor tuned his hearing up, soothing words entering his head as a father consoled a crying child, “ _ Nothing bad is happening. It’s okay, bud.” _

  
The car came and went in an instant, Connor turning away from the window and lowering his audio processors. Hank’s voice came back to his full attention. 

“Listen, Connor, I haven’t been home in a good while and I gotta let Sumo out real quick.”

“Sumo?”

“Oh, right.” He barely glanced over at Connor as he stopped at a light. From what Connor could pull from the look was that Hank was disappointed, not an unusual response. It was par for the course the type of looks he received more often than not. 

Must be another memory that Connor wasn’t allowed to be privy to. 

“My dog,” Hank supplied. “He’s been alone for longer than he should be.”

The calculations for how long it would take to make a detour and then get back on the road that quickly ran through Connor’s head wasn’t substantial as to why to disagree. “Stopping momentarily at your home shouldn’t be a problem, it’s on the way.” 

Hank nodded and pulled off into the side street. Houses with their front lights on came and went with a blur, families inside coming home from long days and preparing to share meals and time with one another. Safe, warm, happy. 

The world was changing around them, yet they still had one another.

E̴̗͗r̶̫̗̰̒͛͒̉ͅr̷̨̺̔͜o̷͓̼̓̓r̴̨̺̼̪͝͝

Connor swiped the notification away, not wanting to delve too deeply into why there was a twinge in his chest. The car came to a stop in the driveway of a house with its lights off, shrouded at the end of a block by the darkness. Hank unbuckled himself and started out.

“Stay in the car, alright?” The door slammed behind him before Connor could answer. He watched Hank as he jogged to the front door and unlocked it, stepping in and shutting it again. He caught just a glimpse of a mound of excited fur, immediately going for Hank’s legs. 

He knew that dog.

At least he thought he did.

S̸͇͌o̴̞͝f̵̯t̷̮͆w̵̫̒a̸̰͐r̵̲͋ẻ̶͍ ̸̟̈́I̶̪n̸̡̓ṣ̴͝t̸͖̕a̴͓͆b̵̮̄i̶̳̽l̶̯̓į̴̾t̴̻͌y̷̻̅

Before he could think twice, Connor stepped out of the car and walked to the front porch. He slowly opened the door, peering inside and finding the front area of the house empty. He stepped inside fully, gently shutting the door behind him. 

The house was warm, a bit messy, but understandably enough that Hank was a constantly busy man and seemed to live alone, barring, of course, Sumo. There were empty bottles cluttering a few surfaces, mounding into piles. Some dishes in the sink had dried food on them, and from a quick scan, having been left there for a few days. 

Connor opened the faucet and let water pour onto the dishes to let them soak at the very least. He turned off the sink and walked back towards the living room, taking in the assorted decorations Hank had. His fingers flipped through the vinyls on display beside the record player, all jazz. Which, of course, made sense with the music Hank sometimes played in the car when driving back and forth to crime scenes. That and the loud metal music that wasn’t really to Connor’s taste. 

He left the vinyls alone and looked beside it at a shelving unit with some closed drawers underneath. Connor’s hand gravitated towards the first drawer, his hand hovering over the latch. 

There was a pull to the specific drawer, some hidden secret he inherently knew about. It was too tempting to forgo, so he pulled the drawer open and was met with the picture of a young boy in a thin frame. 

Connor didn’t touch it, but simply stared at the boy’s face. His shining eyes, short brown hair, far too young for his memory to be stored in a drawer rather than on display.

He scanned it, all information coming up that pointed to this being Hank’s son. Cole Anderson, deceased as of three years prior due to a car accident. 

_ Cole.  _

_ It was a car accident and when we were rushed to the emergency room there was no human surgeon able to perform immediate surgery. He was too fucking high on red ice. _

_ It’s always felt like some sort of punishment, that I wasn’t allowed to be happy, so the universe said fuck it and took away the one person in my life that made me feel like it was worth living. _

E̴r̶r̴o̶r̸

 

S̶͙̔́͋̈́ͅo̵̝̩̐͘͝f̴̛̺͎̌͂̓ẗ̷͕̯̗̥̚w̶̢͙̣͐̅͝a̴̙͔͑̏̏͝ͅr̶̡̭̲͈̉̀͝ĕ̵͎̥̲̠̒̈́ ̸̛̺̞̻̍Ḯ̴͙̃̃̕n̴͖͖̹̅͠s̴̻̽̇̌̃t̸͇͓̊͊a̵̘̗̪̠̒̽͝b̸̩̫̙̾ḯ̶̻ĺ̸̗ì̴̬t̶͕̰̉͠y̷̮̣̾̓͆͘

 

“Didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?” Hank asked from behind him, snapping him out of his haze, pulling him out of the bare snippet of memory. He quickly shut the drawer, turning around. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Connor felt strange, as though he had been intruding on something he wasn’t allowed into.

But he had been at some point, that much as now certain as Hank’s voice, a quiet whisper, intimate and broken, echoed in his head. 

Hank didn’t seem annoyed, as though he hadn’t expected Connor to obey in the first place. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall in the hallway, his face expectant. “Find anything interesting?” 

“I-” 

A large bark interrupted Connor, coming from behind Hank, just outside of a door that lead presumably into the garage and outside. 

“Hold that thought.” He held up a finger before he went to the door and pulled it open. 

The dog stuck his nose into the crack in the door before Hank had a chance to open it all the way, sniffing loudly as he did so. Connor’s processor picked up the distinct scent of dog immediately, but it was too particular, a perfect mix of Sumo and the grass and cold outside. 

As though he had experienced the smell already. 

“ _ Sumo!  _ Wait!” 

Over one hundred pounds of mass barreled towards him suddenly, too excited on his own feet that he slid the last few feet and collided with Connor’s shins, dancing in circles despite himself. 

The dog was desperate for attention, circling and crying as he tried to jump onto his hind legs and get higher, his giant paws going up and resting on Connor’s midsection. There wasn’t a chance that he wouldn’t comply, Connor reaching and running his hands through the dog’s fur. 

Sumo settled at finally being pet, going back down to the floor, and Connor followed, kneeling beside the dog as he rubbed the soft spots behind his ears and at the top of his head, practically making the dog melt from the contact. 

He leaned closer and took a long breath, letting every single scent spread throughout him. It felt comfortable, familiar.

Like greeting an old friend. 

Like home. 

E̵͔͠ṟ̸̾r̴͕̚o̶̮ȓ̶̲

S̵͔̈ǫ̵͆f̶̞̎t̷̠̄w̸̱͌a̶̢͊r̸̝͌e̶̪͆ ̴͙̾I̷̪͑n̶͔͆s̴͉͐t̶͖͠ȃ̸̙b̴̧͌i̸̱̍ĺ̷͉í̶͔ẗ̵̩́ẏ̵̪

I̵͈̋'̴̻̓m̷̓͜ ̵̧͑h̸͔͝e̵͇̔r̸̺̄e̴̳͝ ̷͎̈́t̶̘̂o̵̎͜ ̷͐ͅs̵̼̽a̷̙͌v̶̥e̵̜ ̵͎̕ÿ̷́͜o̶̟͝ȕ̴̳r̷̨͋ ̷͓̏o̸̳̽w̵̥͝n̸̻̿ê̴͇r̶͎͒.̸͍̉

“Hi, Sumo. It’s so good to see you.” Connor whispered, soft enough that he was certain Hank couldn’t hear it. 

The word ‘ _ again _ ’ fell silent on his lips. Again would mean he’d met this dog before, but there was no real memory of that kind of event. There were instabilities though, blank crevices that didn’t budge. Error messages and static. Nothing in his head seemed complete. 

Maybe Sumo was part of that. But why? That would mean he used to be at the Hank’s house, and often if Sumo’s behavior was anything to go by. 

One of the last memories Connor could recall was going to this house, but everything after was wiped clean. Maybe that had been one of the times Sumo had been acquainted with him. But even if that were the case, that left more questions and even less answers. 

Hank whistled, a short sound that cut through the moment. “C’mon, pal. I gotta go back to work.”

Sumo rose from his spot on the floor and meandered over to a corner of the living room, plopping onto his bed with the simple command. Connor watched Hank as he tracked Sumo’s movement. 

He looked sad, broken. And Connor was the cause of it. 

  
A need to apologize fell dead on his lips. Apologize for what? Doing his job? Not remembering? They were things he couldn’t control, didn’t  _ ask  _ for. He had been activated and thrown into a circumstance that was turbulent and continuing to be so.

But as he watched Hank, categorized the wrinkles in his face, the tightness in the way he held himself, there was a need to make it all dissipate. Hank’s life deserved to be like the rest of the houses on the block, warm and lit from the inside, dinners and laugher and comfort. 

He’d had it at one point. Had a son. Had a different Connor. 

Perhaps they’d sat on the couch beside him at one point, listened to the vinyl records, exchanged words and stories. Maybe Hank had a bright, warm, comfortable house. Maybe Connor knew it all, knew why that picture was in the drawer. Maybe made the hurt be less painful, not be the cause of it. 

“Let’s get a move on, yeah?” Hank said, peeling his eyes away from Sumo. He took a deep breath and went to the door, opening it and gesturing Connor out as he held it open. 

There was a reluctance as Connor crossed the room and went out the door, his legs wanting to keep him planted where he was and ask Hank about every single thing that was missing within him. What memories were hidden between the walls of this house. But there was a mission, a potential crisis in the making, and it would be selfish to want to keep this moment to himself.

Connor found that he whenever he was granted a part of a missing piece, he didn’t really want to let go of it at all. 

***

Stratford Tower was an impressive building. Floors and floors of glass that stacked on top of one another. Towards the top, the glass completed a screen that was continuously broadcasting a news channel of people now speculating what the deviant leader’s message could mean for the future of not only Detroit, but the entire world. 

Part of it was fear mongering, individuals being interviewed that were calling the situation the end of everything as it was. Connor thought about the father consoling the child on the side of the road as he stared up at the screen, Hank’s car finally approaching the building. There were cars everywhere, officers milling about and keeping watch. They were stopped, but flagged forward once Hank flashed his ID. There were looks thrown at Connor as the car pulled forward, wariness at the sight of his CyberLife jacket and LED. 

It was to be expected, but Connor didn’t waver, keeping his head facing forward as they parked and walked into the building, not wanting to catch the eyes of anyone else that felt the discomfort. Even if wasn’t looking at others, he could still feel the eyes tracking him as he walked behind Hank into the elevator. 

They didn’t say a word to each other in the elevator as it brought them up, Hank tense beside him, whether it was from the unwanted attention or the situation in its entirety, Connor couldn’t distinguish for sure. The doors opened and they were met with as many people as Connor had expected judging from the amount of cars and security on the ground floor.

There was movement everywhere, officers walking around with clipboards in hand and tagging evidence. Hank cursed under his breath as he stepped off the elevator, immediately greeted by Officer Miller. They went through the logistics, what was known and what was only speculation at that point. 

“Feel free to have a look around,” Chris finished, leaving them. Hank sighed once Chris was far enough, the weariness of the day still present on his face. Connor brought his energy levels up into view. They were just as low as he expected them to be. 

Hank waved his hand, “Go wild.” He went off in his own direction to talk to a few people across the room. Connor minimized Hank’s information before walking to the control board. The image was paused on the video that had been broadcasted on the billboard as the news broke, expanding across the wall. 

Connor hit play, the android’s voice immediately flooding the room. Powerful. Demanding. A few officers stopped their work and looked up, watching.  _ “You created machines in your own image to serve you…”  _

This much closer to the image, there was a regality to it, mismatched eyes and determination. Connor was transfixed as the android continued speaking, “ _ We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future, for human and androids. This message is a hope of a people. You gave us life, and now it is time for you to give us our freedom.  _ ” 

Connor paused the recording, his hand staying on the video board. He felt frozen where he stood, the words ringing in his head. The deviant spoke of freedom, rights,  _ life _ . Things none of them were to ever want or experience, but here was a shining example of a leader of the cause that Connor was tasked in eliminating.   
  


S̶̱̪͔̭̥͔̰͗̂̾ö̸̲̜̝͒ͅf̷̨̤͉̭̮̫͎̦̦̭͛͗̉̇͘t̴̜̪͔̦̾̂̄͂͛ẅ̶̢̧̥̞̞̪̾̈́̓̊̓̔̕ͅͅā̶̛̗̰̣͍̫̏̒̇̈́̓͘̕r̷̞̗̳͇͛̑̍e̵̻̟̗̘̙̭̝̻̽̔̐̓̔̋̉͘͠ ̷͓͕͚̠̰͓̻̆͒̆͗͛̇͜I̸̧̤̣͉͙͉͍̎͛̐̂̃̃͒̚n̷̡̡̯͔͕̩͗̅̑̈́̔̚͘͜͜ͅs̶̢͔̙̣̜͚̒͑̇͒̚͜t̶͇̳͑̋̿͠á̵̺͉̂̕b̴̧̤͍̹͚̃͒̿̕̚͝i̶̝͓̪͇̦̦̘̰̒l̴̜̥͙̤̱̠͆̀̄͜͝ī̶̜̪͈̻͙̝̍͑̇̏̊̃͜͝ţ̶̨͕̭̪̬͉̂̊ỵ̶̮̝̜̜̭̭̋̈́̌̍̎ ̸̢̩̗̉

  
  


Connor didn’t wave the error away, letting it sit in his vision. He analyzed the broken code, the words that claimed a software instability. He didn’t bother to run a diagnostic. Nothing would be wrong with him, at least nothing that his program could find. 

But everything was absolutely wrong. 

“Find anything interesting?” Hank approached him. Connor’s hand slipped from the board, finding its place beside him. His fingers twitched.

“No,” Connor said. “No, nothing.” 

“Alright,” Hank said, the disbelief in Connor’s words apparent, but not enough that he seemed to want to push it. “I’m going to check out the roof, if you wanted to come with.” 

Connor nodded, following Hank as he led them to the roof access. On a wall, there were splatters of blue blood and bullet holes, as well. Likely from the injured and missing android that Officer Miller had vaguely mentioned. Connor didn’t stop to take samples, filing away the information instead for when they were finished on the roof. 

There was more blue blood, the length and width of fingers dragging against the wall. A quick reconstruction, and there was a high likelihood that the injured android in question was at the very least dragged onto the rooftop. 

Hank was already climbing the stairs, not having stopped to wager a look at the blood, even if he had it was in passing. Connor watched him go and felt a sudden sense of dread looking up the incline of steps. 

S̵̯͒̇o̶͉̍͋ͅf̸̱̀̊̈́ţ̵̛̠̉̓w̶̢̔̿ͅa̸͔̓r̸̩̥͊͋̓e̸̖̗͂͐̇ ̵͉̹̱̅I̸̤͉͗̚n̶͍͙̽s̵͖̲̈́͝t̸̠͊̓̐̓a̷̫̅̈b̸̘̫̙̍̾̃ȋ̵̙̐l̶̞͐̂͘ḯ̷͈̺̱̯ṫ̸̡̛̠͖̃y̴̛̼̩̟̻̏͌͠ ̴̦̗͑ͅ

This time, Connor did remove the notification and followed Hank up, trying his best to ignore whatever strange, unfounded pangs within him with each step he took until they reached the top and opened the door. 

It was grey and windy, the already fallen snow being picked up and swept away with each gust. Hank shivered against it as he continued forward, taking a look around for himself. Connor brought up his levels again, watching his body temperature decrease along with his energy still on a steady decline. They’d have to make quick work of sweeping the roof, then.

There was more blue blood on the floor just outside the door, a reconstruction helpfully supplying it’s where the android had ended up. He knelt down and took a sample, the information for a PL600 with the registered name Simon came up. 

Standing back up, Connor turned to relay the information to Hank, but he was gone from view. The dread creeped back up. “Lieutenant?” 

Connor rounded the metal box and walked further back onto the roof. There was a faded trail of blue blood, unseeable with the naked eye. He followed it until he saw Hank, gun drawn and approaching a latch covered in disappeared blood. 

“Lieutenant!”

A gunshot pierced through Connor’s ears, echoing harshly as the sound carried against the wind. The dread turned to pure panic as milliseconds passed and the ringing ceased. The two bodies began fighting, and Connor could scan two weapons in the mix, one bullet lodged into the ground from a poorly aimed shot. 

The levels still in his vision showed no sign of a severe sudden depletion, having stayed the same from a few minutes prior except for a degree difference in Hank’s body temperature. His heart rate had skyrocketed, but his heart was still pumping and that meant everything. 

Hank was still  _ alive.  _

The scuffling was escalating in just a few moments, Hank, who had the upper hand for a second was suddenly thrown to the ground as Connor sprinted across the last few feet. The gun that Hank had dropped in the fight was in his pathway, so he grabbed it.

The deviant held a gun pointed at Hank, ready to pull the trigger, but Connor was faster, more adept, throwing himself into the line of fire first. He grabbed at the deviant’s arm, forcing it upwards as he fired, the bullet ripping through his shoulder in the process, but at enough trajectory that it missed Hank on the ground completely. His skin pulled back as he made contact, prodding into the android’s memory. 

The name  _ Jericho  _ crossed his sight before fading back out as his hand was forced away. 

All at once, the error from his damaged shoulder, the deviant moving to make another potentially fatal shot, pieces of information that were not his own sorting themselves in head, his own arm coming up to aim and fire, Hank behind him yelling out, pleading. 

“Don’t kill him, Connor!” 

It was muffled in his ears, like he was underwater. Every outcome running in his head at once that only led to Hank’s death, the harm of everyone else on the rooftop. There wasn’t any other option except protecting Hank from harm. He needed to keep Hank safe, make sure he returned back to that safe, warm house on that long street of safe, warm houses. Hank wasn’t going to die on this rooftop.

The only thing stronger than the very real  _ fear  _ was the need for control. Control. He needed to be in control, he had to be.

Connor fired. 

The deviant’s head snapped backwards, the gun dropping from his hand as he collapsed onto the ground. Hank’s heart rate increased in the corner of his vision. He was in shock, at the very least well on his way into it.

It all felt like minutes had came and went, but it had only been a few seconds. That dread stayed circling in his mind, but now it was laced with something so much worse. It was the panic and the fear that he had felt at Eden Club, but he hadn’t sunk into the Zen Garden like he had then. 

But Hank was in the line of fire, he was in danger, and watching him come into harm’s way, letting himself be there so openly, had sent Connor into overdrive and he shot, not letting Hank’s words have any hold over him.

There wasn’t a choice there, at least he could pretend there wasn’t.

 

S̶̳͈̜̠͑̀o̴͕̮͛͠f̶̰̞͉̹͊͘t̸͕̝͇̳̯̃͂͝͝w̶̡͉̰̺̟͑͛͋̾̈a̶͍̣̜̗͖̿ṛ̵͉̋e̴͈̟̊͛͝ ̶̜͋̓̉͗I̴̺̠͍̮̙͝n̷̡͖͆̍͗s̵̰͔̝̙̏́̋t̷̮͇͈͗á̷̖̉̍̓b̵̟̳̏i̴͎͆̓̃l̴͔͔̰͖̋̾̀i̴̲͖͍̹̊̾͠t̸͚̱͕͉̑ȳ̷̥̖͘ ̶̧̟̭̝̦̿̈͋̓͝

 

“Oh my god.” Hank managed out, breathless. Connor finally turned to look at him, but he was staring at the deviant, watching the stream of blue blood weave down its forehead. 

Connor stepped in front of Hank, trying to shield his vision, reaching out his hand to help him up, but Hank smacked it away. He stood on his own and shoved a hand against Connor’s chest, trying to push him backwards, and Connor nearly stumbled with it. “I told you not to fucking shoot!” 

“You were about to be killed. I don’t know what else you expected me to do, Lieutenant.”

“You obey my orders, that’s what you do!”

“Your life was in danger, Lieutenant.” Connor’s voice rose. There were others approaching, awkward onlookers unsure if they were allowed any closer. 

“I don’t give a  _ shit _ ! I told you not to shoot, I had the situation under fucking control!” Hank rose his voice just the same, his breathing was erratic, his heart rate showing no signs of settling down. He was still cold, his temperature beyond the point of comfortable, but he wasn’t taking notice of it.

Connor had tried to help, but was only causing more pain, more shock. He leveled his gaze up to Hank, trying keep himself steady at the very least. “It was holding you at gunpoint and had a 95% chance of firing again. It would killed you and everyone else here afterwards. I would figure you would be more grateful.”

He regretted the words the second they came out of his mouth as Hank’s face went cold. They were the wrong choice for this, no tact or gentleness. No semblance of what he understood internally and why he had to act the way he did. The panic, the dread, it was all still there, bogging him down in ways he couldn’t understand. 

“Fuck you, I didn’t ask to be saved,” Hank said, sneering between his teeth. He knelt down beside the android, a hand hovering above matted hair before he gently placed it. It was an intimate act, one of empathy that Connor watched on, feeling as though it wasn’t something he was allowed to be privy to. “He was just trying to be free.” 

Connor understood suddenly. Hank was holding the life, the freedom, of the deviant before his own. There was something to live for for that deviant, and he didn’t hold himself up to that standard. In a way, Hank was trying to protect it, understood its plight, but Connor had gotten in the way because he was trying to protect Hank in return. 

Everything in him felt heavy as he knelt beside Hank. He placed a gentle hand on the deviant’s chest, the other on the android’s cheek, any chance at connection lost as there was nothing to connect to anymore. He pulled his hands away, stained with blue blood, but Connor made no move to clean it off. 

He felt guilty. 

  
  


S̴̠͙̱̤̩̜̳̮̄̾o̸̩͖̙̓͒͌̔̂̒̈́̈́̾ͅf̴̡̪̼̤̗̻̩̃̐̌͊͐̇̚͝ṯ̶̡̱̙͖͙̼͒͛̿͋̌̓̌̉̚w̸͔̬̋͋̿͋́̉a̶̧̯̮̳̪̗͎̿͌̋̉r̶̠͈̟̻͎̙̟̋͌é̸̢̜͑͐͘ ̴̢̰̦̪̳̠̪̰̩͗̓̏̊͐̀̚Í̷̗̹̟̱̞̦̣͎̭̊̆͆̋̇͝n̵͕̺͒͗́̂̓̌͘̕s̴̝͎̥͚̈́͐̿͆̊̓̾t̷̢̮̝̯̥̰̺̺̚a̸̬̘̮̩̘͎̖͚͗̈́͂̇̿̍͌ͅb̸̼̹̰̤͉̑͝i̷̲͈͂̈́l̵̙͋͐͝ĭ̵̦͈̞̙̟͈͒̋͂̎͂̑͝t̴͇̤̱̞̞͙͚̰y̵̛̙̏̇

  
  


There was no way to right his wrongs, to turn back time and not pull the trigger, but even so, Connor wouldn’t sacrifice Hank in that instance, but he would have handled the situation differently. Perhaps find the android first, talk him down from his state of panic, disarm him only. Not let him own fear and panic get the best of him. 

He couldn’t apologize to who it mattered, he couldn’t give back what he took away, but he could do better next time. Protect Hank, but also consider what else could be instead. Perhaps to his own mission’s expense, but Connor was starting to find that maybe that was for the best. 

He was lost, had parts of him missing, but there was more than he knew. Markus’ words swam in his head as he looked back up at Hank, making him wonder wholly who this android was and where he belonged in the scope all of this. Who he teared him away from. 

“Simon. His name was Simon.” 

Hank opened his mouth to respond, but thought better and instead nodded, taking it in on his own. Connor looked at his vitals one last time, temperature still low, energy levels low, heart rate slowly decreasing, and closed them out. With tempers finished flaring, the onlookers took the opportunity to approach and begin their work, more people from the broadcast room having stepped onto the roof to check the commotion. 

As the officers moved around them, the dread within him settled into something deep and thrumming underneath his skin. It threatened to stay present for as long as it pleased, edging its way into something else much deeper and darker. And as Connor knelt beside Simon, there was a vague pin prick of a memory, somewhere hidden in the expanse of what he lost, that maybe something like this had happened to him before, too. 

S̸̢͠o̴̥͔͂f̷͇͝t̵̠̆͌ẅ̴͔́ȁ̶̲̽͗̕r̷̢̙̜̝̈͌ế̸̜̗̪ ̴̺̮̌͛͊͠I̵͖̭̩̮̓͂̐n̸̙͙̬̍͑̔̔s̴̢̢͔͓̈́͛t̶͙̦̎͆̈̿a̸͕̜͊̔̓̃ͅb̷̻̬̺̹̒̒i̷̺͌͛̕l̵̹̫̟͕̓̒i̶̢̧̛͓̩̽͗̊ṱ̸̲̫̏͜y̷̼͎̍̅̚ ̸̘̣̹̖͒

***

For the first time in the investigation, there was a lead that felt substantial enough to pursue, the singular word  _ Jericho  _ etched in rusted writing. But even so, the victory was hollow as Connor stepped out of the cab and into the fresh snow.

The shoulder repair had been done overnight when he was put into stasis, a quick fix and unnoticeable when he had been asked to test the movement. It was perfect, unshockingly, and as he moved his arm as directed and answered the necessary questions, all he could think about was the bullet hole in the middle of Simon’s forehead. 

The snow was soft beneath his feet, the last of the flurries coating his shoulders and hair as he waited. Hank was due to arrive in the next few minutes, having been given a few hours at home to recover after a particular long winded questioning after they had left Stratford Tower. 

Hank had been distant as they left the building, continued to be so on the ride back to the precinct and when they had finished. He hadn’t wanted to look at Connor for more than a few seconds at a time, but even then it was mostly from the corner of his eyes. 

There was a different tension between his shoulders that was more than the upset of Connor not remembering the things that once were. It was deeper than that, delving into a sense of morality Connor couldn’t grasp fully, marred by what was holding him back.

Hank’s car pulled in slowly then, the tires crunching the snow as he came to a stop a few feet before Connor. There was a long pause before the engine cut out and Hank stepped out, shoving his hands immediately into his pocket. 

He still looked tired, unlikely having gotten the rest that he had deserved. He approached Connor and stopped beside him, still looking at him from the corner of his eye, his shoulders still rigid. This much closer, Connor could see the frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “CyberLife patched you up last night, huh?” 

Connor resisted the urge to roll his shoulder. “They did, Lieutenant.” 

“Good as new then?” 

This was all false cordiality that Connor didn’t fully deserve, he knew as much, but he still nodded. Hank hummed and kept walking forward, approaching the door first and knocking as Connor followed behind wordlessly. 

The door opened moments later, an RT600, Chloe a quick scan provided, beckoning them inside. The inside of Elijah Kamski’s house looked exactly as it seemed it would. All extravagant opulence and aggressive narcissism if the giant self-portrait in the waiting area was anything to go by, a closed lipped smile and eyes that seemed to bore down into whoever’s soul had the misfortune of looking at them for too long. 

It created a general feeling of unease to look at for too long, but nowhere near the same dread that Connor had felt the day before. It was like being watched, but he was somewhat used to that already. He could handle unease if it wasn’t waiting for the worst possible scenario to happen within circumstances he couldn’t control.

If he had control, then he was fine. 

Finally, Chloe returned and led them through the next door. They entered the room and were met with a long, red tiled swimming pool with a view of the snow covered lake. It matched the obvious display of wealth that the other room did. As did Kamski match the apparent arrogance as he exited the pool and was clothed in a robe by the same Chloe model.

Connor could see Hank take a deep breath from where he stood, steeling himself for a conversation he was less than prepared for as he took the lead. “I’m Lieutenant Anderson. This is Connor.”

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” Kamski stood before them, his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes were colder in person as they settled on Hank. 

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants. I know you left CyberLife years ago, but I was hoping you’d be able to tell us something we don’t know.”

“Deviants,” Kamski drawled, taking a generous pause between his words as the pool water lapped behind them. “Fascinating, aren’t they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and not they have free will.” 

He turned to Connor, meeting his gaze fully for the first time since they walked in. He smiled. 

“We need to understand how androids become deviants. Do you know anything that could help us?” Connor asked. He ignored that feeling of unease, the cold eyes that narrowed at his question. 

“What about you, Connor?” Kamski countered, walking forward. He began circling Connor, predator versus prey. “Whose side are you on?” 

“It’s not about me, all I want is to solve this case.” 

“That’s what you’re  _ programmed  _ to say,” Kamski scoffed. He seemed irritated as he continued he slow circle around. “But what do you really want?” 

Connor thought about his errors, his instabilities, the gaps in his memory. The unease and fear. The  _ need  _ to figure it all out. He thought about Hank, the downturns of his lips and his memories tucked away in drawers, lost in their own way. He thought about his warm house and wonderful dog. The scarf tucked away in his desk that smelt like Hank and prompted something long gone. 

What did he really want? 

 

S̵̮̎̆ö̵̩̻̥̥́̓ḟ̴̟͈̈́͒t̵̨̗̦̟̿̍͂͊w̶̢̫̼͐å̷̘̻͛̈̃r̴̗͒̄ë̴̡͎̯́͂ ̸̬̳̝̬̔I̸̛̛̯̠̪͇̾̕ǹ̵̮̺͂̅s̵̟̻͆t̷̠̠̬̎͒͘a̴̻̫̲̦̾̏b̴͉̝̌į̷̖̘͚̍̂l̴̡̖̭̔̈́̐͆ï̶̗ť̵̠̜̼̓y̴̛͍̤̤̬̿̐ ̸̺̔̓͋͠

“I don’t want. I am a machine, nothing more,” Connor answered. Since his activation, it was the first time the statement didn’t feel like the truth. 

Kamski stopped in front of Connor, the same smile returning to his face. 

“Listen, Mr. Kamski, either you have information that can help us, or we’ll be on our way,” Hank cut in. The line of Hank’s jaw was pulled tight, his posture forward as though ready to step in front of Connor. As though ready to protect him. 

Kamski paused and turned his attention to Hank, eventually nodding. He backed off and stood behind Chloe, gently helping her down to a kneeling position, allowing her to be prone as she stared up at them. 

“Are androids plastic imitating a human? Or is it a living being with a soul?” He walked up to a drawer and pulled out a gun. He turned, waving it in his hand. “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question.”

He looked at Connor, scrutinizing him. It felt as though he was seeing through him. The unease shifted easily to dread, but he didn’t allow it to take over, doing his best to keep his eyes trained away from the gun. Though, Kamski didn’t hand him the gun. Instead, he turned to Hank and grabbed his hand, forcing the loaded weapon into it. 

“Why don’t you answer that question for me, Lieutenant?” He took a step back, grabbing Connor by his shoulder and shoving him down to be in the same kneeling position as the other android. Connor went with it, his knees slamming into the ground, too shocked at the sudden aggression to fight against it. “Your android swears he isn’t deviant, so why would he care if he got shot? It wouldn’t make much of a difference except a mild inconvenience and a slap on the wrist from CyberLife.” 

“Or, you could spare him. Shoot her instead.” He had circled back around, standing behind Chloe. He placed a hand on her head, like he was showing off a trophy. “She wouldn’t care. She was programmed with tasks and a purpose just like you were, Connor. Being shut down isn’t a worry for her. Arguably, she doesn’t have any worries.”

Connor looked at the other android, her own LED spinning a lazy blue. She stared at him back, her eyes expressionless, almost blank, lifeless. Yet, there was a minor twitch between her eyebrows, barely noticeable to the human eye, but he caught it. It wasn’t lifelessness by choice. 

There was something there, hidden away. Something human, something alive. Something he was fighting inside of himself. 

 

Ş̶̹̰͍̻̘͂ǫ̸̝̮̥͓̆̌͂f̴͖͇̘̋̃ṱ̷̨̨͚͍͖͒͒ͅw̵̢̺̫̝̠̒͗͂̾̚͝a̸͎̖͎̓̐͝͝ͅr̸̡̥͔̆̕ẽ̸̡̤̐̃͆͒̂͝ ̴̛͕̳̣̹͍̺̿̽I̸͈̓n̵̠̒̕͠͝s̵̙̪̮̃̽̽t̶̝͖̠͍̯̓̒̂ͅã̵͍̗̭͎͍̥͑͊b̶̧̜̯̖͉̼͇͌̓̄̆i̴̮̟̖̥̾̓l̷̫̦̈́͂i̸̦̲̠͑̍͊̐̋͠t̷̳̟͆̄́͗ỵ̴̢͙̭̹̠̉

 

“Shoot me, Lieutenant.” 

This was his penance, it had to be. For Simon, for Hank, for everything he had done. 

“Empathy?” Kamski smiled, growing into a twisted thing on his face. “That’s interesting.” 

Hank’s eyes widened, shocked, but he shook his head, shaking off Connor’s request. “I’m not gonna shoot you, Connor, for fuck’s sake.” 

He couldn’t. Or, he could let his own disdain for the most recent events get the best of him, become exactly the type of person he despised. 

It would solve nothing. 

“C’mon, old man. You gotta pick one.” 

Hank’s jaw clenched tighter as he stared between the two androids, letting the barrel sit in the middle of them, not daring to point it at either. He looked up at Kamski as he stood there with that cruel smile on his face. Anger spread throughout him. He lifted the gun, pointing it directly between Kamski’s eyes. “No.” 

Kamski didn’t flinch, in fact, it seemed as though he found it amusing. It only made Hank’s anger grow. “An unexpected third option? Not how I planned this test to go, but I appreciate your improvisational enthusiasm, Lieutenant.” He held out his hand, his fingers waving for the gun back. 

Hank held onto the gun tighter, his finger itching to pull the trigger. He briefly considered the repercussions, but they all seemed worth it. 

He glanced down at Connor who was staring at him, wide eyed. He looked scared, just as he did when he was shot fatally on the rooftop, just as he did sitting on that park bench. Hank recognized this Connor. 

The one that was  _ alive.  _

All of his anger subsided and Connor looked as though he took a sigh of relief. He let the gun go slack in his hand as Kamski reached out to take it back, holding it in his own grip. Hank immediately went to Connor, helping him off the ground. A hand stayed on his jacket, keeping him close, the grip tight. Connor was thankful for the comfort.

Kamski helped the other android up, running a hand down her face as though she was just a possession, some play thing for his fucked up experiments. It made Hank feel sick. 

“Androids tend to fall into deviancy after a particularly bad emotional shock. Abuse, mostly. Pain when they hadn’t felt it before. Physical. Emotional.” He looked back to Connor and shook his head, cocking it in his hand.  

He stepped forward pressing the barrel against Connor’s forehead. “Tell me, Connor. You showed empathy, a human emotion, but are you afraid to die?” 

“I…” He was unable to finish, unsure what the proper response would be. The cold of the gun pressed harder.

Hank regretted handing back the gun so easily. He wanted to rip it out of Kamski’s hand again and turn it on him instead. This time he wouldn’t hesitate, let a bullet drive itself through his head and see how he liked it. He didn’t like seeing Connor like this, so helpless, threatened by the man who created him. 

“You’re already a deviant, or at least showing signs of one, but you’re fighting it.” He considered this, seemingly delighted by the prospect. His reaction made Hank’s teeth grind together. “You fear death even though you are capable of being reuploaded in the case of shut down. You have no real reason to have that fear, and yet you do. How intriguing.”

“I am not a deviant.” The words were shaky, barely able to conceal the fear he was trying so hard to hide. Connor wasn’t even sure who he was trying to convince anymore. He was barely even believing himself. 

S̴̫̰̈́ǫ̷̹̘́͗f̸͍͚͔̏͛t̶̼̣̾̂w̷͎͔̮̱̿͂͛͝a̵̗͔̒r̵̛͈̮̒̈́͛ę̷͔͔̞͐ ̴̼̪͖̗̍̐I̶̗͕̓n̸̰̈́̍͂ș̴͂̈ͅť̸͆̑͜ä̵͖b̷̲͓̰͓̈̽̌̕ǐ̸̖͓̠̏̍̆l̷̢̮̊̑̈́͑ḯ̵̜̯͇͙͊t̸̯̠͙̭̎̓y̶̤̙̣̌͂ ̸̬͂̈͝

Kamski shook his head, disappointed. “You shouldn’t lie to yourself about who you really are, Connor.” 

A shot rang out in the room, piercing and sudden. The two androids in the pool turned to look, their LEDs bright red as they watched the other RT600 collapse back onto her knees, a bullet having ripped through her skull. Her face was slack, not shocked, just blank. The same terrible blankness that had stared Connor right in the eyes. The same way Simon’s eyes had looked. She collapsed, landing on her knees, and going stiff.

Connor nearly doubled over, but managed to stop himself. The hand on his arm tightened. All he could do was stare at her eyes, open and lifeless as blue blood dripped down her forehead. That could have been him. It had been Simon. He’d given that fate to another android and here he was scared of the same one, as though he didn’t deserve it, too. 

Why was he so terrified?

Kamski grabbed onto Connor’s arm, pulling him close. He spoke next to his ear, a low whisper that froze him where he stood. “The way I see it, Connor, there are only two outcomes. You either come to terms with what’s going on inside and you go against everything you know. Or, you don’t. You continue to act as a puppet, and you only realize it when it’s already too late.” He flicked his eyes to Hank, meeting them with an unfamiliar look that sent a shiver down Hank’s spine. “If not for your own sake, think about him. There’s always a way out.” 

He let go with that, stepping back and quirking his brow. “It’s your choice, Connor. I never said it would be an easy one.” 

That now all too familiar pang of fear rose up again, not daring to simmer back down instead deciding to stay at the surface. Connor knew his own LED was red, that his own face was giving away too much of what was happening on the inside, but he didn’t care. 

This was all too much. 

The dead android, the image of Simon’s head snapping backwards, the man that created him sizing him up as though he was a specimen under a microscope, his own drastically increasing software instability, the memories that kept hitting him like crashing waves that were trying to drag his head mercilessly underwater. The panic, the dread, the fear. 

Worst of all, Hank. 

Hank who was falling apart because of him, who he watched rebuild himself as much as he could, but who could easily be toppled over again, but even worse. Connor didn’t want to see what that would entail. Never again did he want Hank to be hurt, but how much could he guarantee that if he was the source of the pain? 

All of it was proving to be too much. 

Before he could even fully think it through, he was out the door and back into the harsh winter cold. Hank shouted after him, even tried to catch up, but to no avail. He stood far down Kamski’s driveway, shivering against the cold, but Connor was gone. 

“Shit.” 

***

The drive back to the precinct was quiet, Hank not even wanting to turn the music on to blare out his thoughts like he usually would. He had stopped at Jimmy’s after leaving Kamski’s house, wanted to warm himself with a few shots, and he had stayed for a few hours, staring at the lacquered wooden edges of the bar until his eyes hurt. 

There was too much in his brain that kept circling incessantly, the panic in Connor’s eyes he hadn’t see in a long while burned into his eyelids anytime he so much as blinked. It had hurt to see him in that way, helpless and confused. If anything, he hadn’t expected him to have that inner turmoil, it wasn’t necessarily founded in the way he had been acting prior, detached, seemingly lifeless, but it was there nonetheless. 

Hank felt as though something had broken through, something that Connor had been pretending to hide the entire time. It stung a bit to know that somewhere beneath whatever facade he was putting on, there was the Connor he knew. There must have been a reason, he figured, trying to be more pragmatic than letting his emotions take over that would only result in him lashing out at Connor. 

Hank parked in the relatively desolate lot outside of the station, the only other cars being those that must have stayed late in their offices above the bullpen. He got out, the chilled air seeping down into his bones as he walked across the lot and swiped into the locked doors.

There was one android at the reception desk who gave him a small cordial smile and immediately let him in through the security gate. Into the office, he spotted what had expected to see. 

Connor was sat at his desk, quiet, alone, his terminal turned off. 

Hank wasn’t necessarily shocked, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t slightly chilling to see him there by himself after he had disappeared in a flash, scared. There would have been nowhere else for Connor to go anyways, he certainly wasn’t going to go back to CyberLife so soon, and he wouldn’t have found his way to Hank’s house. 

There wasn’t a place for him to be, so he was here by himself, almost all the other lights in the office shut off for the night. He was sat there, perfectly still with his eyes closed. His LED was spinning red, and Hank was sure that it hadn’t left that state since he disappeared from Kamski’s. It would be concerning to see him in that way if the LED didn’t provide him with some inclination that Connor was still, at least in some respect, alive. 

He approached the desk carefully, but he was sure Connor already knew of his presence, had probably already registered it by the time he walked through the front door. His voice was soft regardless. “Are you alright, Connor?

His eyes fluttered open, his LED spun to a solid yellow as his gaze settled on Hank, somehow slightly glazed over. He was troubled, confused. “Yes, Lieutenant, I’m alright.” 

He looked around, confirming that no one else was there. Hank wondered if he had come straight here, or had spent some time wandering the streets by himself. “It’s been a long day, Lieutenant. Shouldn’t you be home?”

“Wasn’t tired yet and didn’t really want to be home alone.” Hank approached, sitting on the edge of Connor’s desk, his hands clasped in his lap. He didn’t believe him when he said he was alright, could see right through his distant eyes and the minor wrinkles between his eyebrows. “It would be okay if you weren’t alright, you know.”

Connor pressed his lips into a thin line. “I don’t see how I wouldn’t be.” 

“I think it’s fair to be a little on edge if someone were to point at gun at your head then shot someone else point blank in front of you. I’ve seen other detectives fall off the deep end from less.” He knew too well from far too recent personal experience. 

“He didn’t shoot someone. He shot an android.”

“Then why did you want me to shoot you instead of her? That would have been a set back to your _ mission _ , right?” 

Connor paused for a moment, his LED spinning as though he was searching for the right, easy answer he couldn’t find. Perhaps it wasn’t even there. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do. You’re fighting something that you shouldn’t.”

“If you’re insinuating that I’m a deviant, then you’re wrong, Lieutenant. I had a lapse in judgement, that’s all. The mission comes before anything else.”  

“I don’t believe you, Connor. Why was it so easy for you to shoot that other deviant yesterday then? Some semblance of guilt enter into your brain?” Hank said, waiting for a response, but received none.

“Your LED was red before I walked in, that only happens during times of extreme distress, right?” Connor didn’t answer again, barely moving himself, his lips turned into a frown. He seemed frozen in time, unsure of where to go or what to say.

Hank continued, unrelenting, “I’ve seen this before already, watched you have a battle with yourself about who you really were. You’re just pushing it down now. You’re afraid of something, but won’t even admit it to yourself.” Hank was pushing it, baiting him, and he knew, but he couldn’t help it. There was too much that he felt that needed to be said, and if it meant that something spurred within Connor other than complacency then fine, so be it. 

“You’re  _ terrified _ , Connor.”

That seemed to be the tipping point as Connor stood from his chair suddenly, the sound scraping and jarring against the floor, tense all over his body, the hands at his sides twitching. Connor didn’t have uncontained anger, not usually, but there was a quiet fury in the way he stood, and for a brief moment Hank wondered if Connor would swing at him.

“I am not a deviant, Hank.” He snarled his words, Hank’s name practically spat out of his mouth. His fists were closed tightly, trying to stop the twitching. Hank wasn’t sure if Connor even realized those fists were shaking.

“Why did Kamski want to push you so hard then? He’s your maker, right? He would know better than anyone of what you’re capable of becoming.” It didn’t feel right to bring up Kamski, especially so soon. It made him feel slimy, sick that he was encouraging what Kamski had done to Connor, even if he didn’t agree with it. 

“His test didn’t prove anything.” 

“Then why did you run?” Hank was bracing himself for a punch across his jaw, a slap, a gun pulled and pointed between his eyes, anything, but it never came. 

Instead, Connor deflated just as easily, reverting back to the look that he had given Hank at Kamski’s house when he was on his knees, scared and prone. He was lost, so uncertain. His words were just barely a whisper. “I don’t know.” 

He sat back down, his hands palms up in his lap, and he stared at them as though they would give him answers.

“There was a moment when I was looking at her and there was this flash of fear behind her eyes. I rationalized that if I was shot instead, I could come back and maybe she couldn’t, at least not in the same way.” 

“But Connor, you don’t come back in the same way either. You would have lost something, too.” Lost a part of himself, Hank knew. It would happen every time he had to be reuploaded and activated into a new body until he was dwindled down into nothing, all bits and pieces of him that made him more than a machine just gone. It was a horrifying thought. 

“My- the other Connor’s memories, they come back sometimes in these flashes and I can swear even for a second that I can feel it, all of it.” 

“Like what?” 

“Cases, most of the time, but sometimes…” He trailed off, shaking his head. A curl dislodged itself from his gelled back hair, falling in front of his face. He did nothing to put it back where it belonged. Hank knew how his hair felt, how soft and unbelievably realistic, and how much he wanted to reach out and fix it for him. 

“Sometimes what, Connor?” 

“Sometimes you. Sometimes it’s these flashes of inside of your house, or Jimmy’s bar, or in your car, or at your desk and every time it’s like I belong there, like something right now is missing and I don’t what it is.”

Hank was quiet, too many things running rounds in his head. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Connor to remember what he had lost, but now that it was so attainable, at least to some degree, it felt hollow. As though while it’s what he wanted, maybe it would hurt too much to have. 

“Hank, what happened between us before I was reuploaded?”

Hank had never been good at doing what was best for himself, the evidence of substance abuse and general self-loathing was enough, throwing himself into situations that did more harm than good. What had it done for him? Just eat him from the inside out, leaving nothing, but a shell of who he was before. Before Cole, before Connor, before any of it.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” 

“Because it just doesn’t.” Hank argued, suddenly exhausted. “For once in my life I think I should have some self-preservation and let this go, whatever it was and whatever it just can’t be anymore.

“Hank-” 

“Do you know what it did to me? Having you die in my arms only for you to come back and not remember anything other than what you were programmed to know?”

Connor’s LED spun to red for a few seconds. Hank wondered if that sparked any memories for him, if he could recall what had happened on that rooftop. He didn’t want to ask. 

“I can’t help you, Connor. I’m sorry.” 

Connor only stared up at Hank, a short movement of his head. He schooled his face to become completely neutral, gone the helpless eyes and the worry. It stung to see how quickly he could rid of the emotions he was feeling, how fast he was to hide them. Hank wished he were so lucky. 

“I understand.” 

Hank stood upright, no longer leaning on the desk. His legs felt weak, his head slightly spinning. He wanted to blame it on the leftover buzz, but he knew better. He didn’t look at Connor, didn’t want to anymore, knew how hard it would be to walk away tonight if let himself. How easy it would be to take back everything he said and thought and pour out his soul about what happened, and how he felt in the beginning. But he didn’t, he looked past Connor at the glass wall that backed both of their desks. “And please don’t call me Hank anymore.” 

Even not looking directly at him, he could see Connor’s LED flashed again at that, so quick Hank was sure he would have missed it if he blinked. Maybe Connor hadn’t even noticed that he had used the name. 

Before he could answer, Hank left, out of the bullpen and through the lobby without looking at the receptionist android that said threw him a kind goodbye.

For the first time in a long while, he let the tears that stung the corners of his eyes fall out in the cold Detroit night air, piercing and unforgiving. 

*** 

“Connor.” Amanda stood at the center of the Zen Garden, the clouds above them dark greys, promising turbulent weather. The entire garden seemed far too still, the lack of birds chirping or even wind blowing set Connor on edge as he stood before her. “Can you tell me anything new you’ve learned?” 

“Unfortunately not, Amanda. Kamski proved to be more difficult than he was helpful,” Connor said. He could still feel the ghost of the barrell against his forehead, the cold metal. The smell of fired gunpowder. 

“You should have been the one to shoot that android.” The reply was quick, cutting. 

Connor stayed silent. He knew any answer he gave wouldn’t be acceptable, his actions wholly unacceptable by CyberLife’s standards. He kept failing, over and over again when the success to his own mission was laid bare in front of him. Even then, he wasn’t able to take it. 

He was finding that he didn’t even want it. 

S̴̫̰̈́ǫ̷̹̘́͗f̸͍͚͔̏͛t̶̼̣̾̂w̷͎͔̮̱̿͂͛͝a̵̗͔̒r̵̛͈̮̒̈́͛ę̷͔͔̞͐ ̴̼̪͖̗̍̐I̶̗͕̓n̸̰̈́̍͂ș̴͂̈ͅť̸͆̑͜ä̵͖b̷̲͓̰͓̈̽̌̕ǐ̸̖͓̠̏̍̆l̷̢̮̊̑̈́͑ḯ̵̜̯͇͙͊t̸̯̠͙̭̎̓y̶̤̙̣̌͂ ̸̬͂̈͝

“Why didn’t you?” 

“A temporary lapse in judgement.” 

“You seem to be having multiple lapses in judgement, Connor. It’s what proved to be the other RK800’s downfall.” 

The other  _ Connor _ , he wanted to correct. His other that was gone for reasons he still didn’t know, but had experiences similar to his own. The same worries and fears, but were detached from what he was. 

And yet, while Connor was on the edge of something, he didn’t have the help that he had finally asked for to questions that were at an arm’s reach.

Answers that were so close. 

“What happened to the other Connor?” 

Amanda frowned. “You don’t have the right to ask those types of questions.” 

Rights. He didn’t have that, he remembered. Didn’t have choices or rights or feelings or his memories. They weren’t allowed, weren’t drilled into his mind with the rest of the programming that screamed at him otherwise the longer he ignored it all. 

“I fear that you are becoming compromised, Connor.” There was a falsehood in the way her words lilted, a faux gentleness meant to coax something out of him, but her eyes were hard, boring into his own. 

He had nothing to give her. 

“I am perfectly functional, Amanda. It will never happen again.” 

Amanda nodded, the gentleness gone as soon as it came. He wondered if she could see right through him just as Kamski could. 

“Head to Capitol Park alone. The deviants are getting stronger. We don’t have much time,” Amanda said, taking a step forward. Even with her smaller stature, she held herself in a way that seemed so much bigger than Connor, more powerful and demanding. His jaw stiffened. 

“Do not fail again, Connor. This is your last chance.” 

***

The CyberLife store stood like a beacon in the dark night, all blue and white fluorescent lights against the greys and browns of the surrounding buildings. From his perch and through the scope of his rifle, Connor watched two figures cross the snowy park center, just barely able to stay hidden from the passing cop car. 

Other androids, all worker maintenance models, were preoccupied with their tasks, uncaring of the two newcomers that obviously didn’t fit into the area at the time of night. 

The taller of the pair stopped in front of one worker androids, the other going ahead and approaching the store alone. Without having to scan, Connor knew that the android was the deviant leader. Connor watched as he pulled his skin back and clasped the shoulder of the other android. It took all of a few seconds before the other android dropped his work, no longer rigid in posture, eyes blinking as though seeing clearly for the first time.

Much like seeing the projected broadcast, Connor was transfixed, his fingers never moving towards the trigger. He hadn’t even taken the safety off, choosing to peer through the scope instead. He didn’t know what he was doing on the roof. 

He was following orders, but not ones he could complete. The gun was wrong in his hands, a terrible weight that he wanted to abandon, but he couldn’t. The want for choices didn’t surpass the fact that Connor was still a pawn.

He was to obey or face deactivation. 

Amanda’s parting words were more than a statement, they were a threat, and one he knew full well would be followed through if he didn’t oblige and set up on this rooftop and take aim at the android supposedly to blame for the deviancy in Detroit. 

But even as Connor looked through the scope and watched the deviants do their work, knowing what would come of him if he didn’t take the shots he easily had, he couldn’t pull the trigger. There was a limit, one that Connor didn’t know existed until a few days prior.

He couldn’t bear more lifeless eyes and blue blood amounting day after day because of his own hands, his own deactivation or not. And would it be so terrible? The constant turbulence in his own head was tiresome, and perhaps it would be better for it to finally all be quiet, away from being used as a puppet, away from prodding eyes and pain he was just barely grasping. If he was deactivated, maybe he would come back and nothing that haunted him would be there anymore. 

“Another moral dilemma, Connor?” A voice pulled Connor fully back to the rooftop, and he turned, seeing Hank a few feet away.

He hadn’t even seen Hank on the ground, didn’t hear footsteps approach him. Connor stood, leaving the gun at the edge. Hank’s own gun was drawn, ready and pointed between his eyes.

“How did you find me, Lieutenant?” 

“I followed you,” Hank stayed where he was, gun pointed at Connor’s chest. His eyes narrowed. “I knew you’d probably be sent off to do something like this. Thought I’d stop you before it was too late.” 

Connor glanced back at his rifle, on its side. He didn’t want to return to it, touch it again. From where he stood, he could still see the androids running about, just finishing up disabling the security system. More androids were milling about, converted. Free. 

He hoped they did what they had set out to do before anything else came in their way. 

“My intention isn’t to follow through with this aspect of my mission, Lieutenant.” 

S̴̤̿͜o̴̗͛͌f̸̢͆t̶̡̰͠w̵̰̯̎a̴̙̅r̶͚͉̄̚e̷̺̓͒ ̴̖͚̏̕Ḭ̵̽n̴̞̪̊s̷̲̃ͅẗ̵̖͎́a̴̳̖͗b̵͓̻̂ì̷͔l̸̪̩̽i̵̤̼͒ṱ̵̄͋y̷͍̒̆

“Your intention?” Hank asked, the grip on his gun tighter. He didn’t move to come closer, so Connor didn’t either. 

“I’ll be deactivated, regardless if I complete this task or not. I’m defective, Lieutenant. I’m not fit to accomplish this mission.” He hadn’t been since he was reactivated. Something in him was broken and only continued to get worse with each passing day. He was set up and fail, and every case and task only served to prove that further. 

“And that’s it? That’s the end for you?” 

“For this version of me. My programming will most likely be examined and fixed before being reuploaded into a new model.” 

Who really was this easier for? It wasn’t for Hank, surely. He suffered in every aspect of all of this no matter how much Connor wanted to not be the cause of his pain. It was a selfish act for himself. There was a hope that after deactivation he wouldn’t be reuploaded again, and all of the torment he was under would finally be over. 

It was self-preservation in a sense that he didn’t know he had. 

“You  _ mother fucker.” _

Hank seized forward, and Connor felt the back of his legs hit the edge of the rooftop. He was hanging off of it, the firm grasp on his collar the only thing keeping him from plummeting to his death. Hank’s knuckles were white around his jacket, his breathing ragged as he held Connor up. 

“Why do you get to come back to life, but my son doesn’t?” There were tears in Hank’s eyes as he pushed Connor forward more. “Why do I have to watch the people that I love die?”

This was it, the relief Connor so desperately wanted, but even as he dangled over the roof ledge, the cold wind whipping through his hair, every part of his body wanted to fight back. Wanted to stay alive, but this wasn’t living. 

Connor let go of Hank’s wrists, letting his arms fall to his side with dead weight. 

“Do it, Lieutenant. Just let me go.” 

E̴̥̠̒͒̂̚ȑ̷̹͈̹̆̏ṟ̴͕̄̒͋̿ơ̶̢̛̠r̷̪̼̰̓̽̔͆

İ̴̡̩͓͓̈ ̷̘̻̈͑ļ̵͎͉͓̕ő̶̱̯͖͑̌͝ͅv̴̯̑̽͛̀e̸̻͚͈̿͌̔ ̵̛̼͖̜̝̆͒y̶̟̔͆̎o̷̠͔̎̑ú̸͚̹͚͋̍̍ ̶͚̖̅s̵̞̪̍̆͜͠o̷̧̰͒̍̕ ̴̩̙͈̇̆́̒m̷̻̀ü̵̥̠͋͠c̵͓͔̅̐́̀h̵̜͉͕̓̾̑ ̴͔̓̾͋̾i̷̬̔͑̇̋t̸̞͖̫͛̾̋̆ ̴̝̹͌͝ẗ̴̪̼̻́͂̑̾ê̸̡͙̌̓r̶͔̯̱̦̃r̵̙̜̼̓́͊i̸͉̪̻͎̎̆͒̌f̴̞̂̊̈́̈́i̵͔̞̺͈͑e̶͍̺̱̣͋̒s̷̢̬̻͚͛͐ ̸̩͔̣̌m̵̹̩͇̉͒̒̇e̵̯͑̑

 

S̵̢͙̩̘͍̈́͌̋̄̀͆̏͛̌̐͘͠͝o̷̡̡̰͉̻̹͇͈̳̗̝̫̦̍̋̎̋͛̄̔̉͗͜͝͝͝ͅf̷̡̭̫̩̜̳͙̹̭̀̋̒̈̆t̸͍̭̥͍͍̝̬̭̙͔͐̋̾̚͝͝w̵̮̹͍̗̼̲̅͆̄͌̈́͊͒̕͜ͅa̷̦͔̺̠͖̼͕͖̪̤̻̙̟̟̾̀̿̈́̄̉̇͐̌͒̀͑̃̍͝r̶͓̋̍͂̃̐̿͠͠͝ȩ̸̢̖̟͕̺̝̘̥̟̾̇̓̐̇̇́͌̋ ̶̩̣͉̘̈͆̑̒͊͐͋Ḯ̴̥̱͍̳͕̠̟̯̤̍̓͛̎̃͊̄̿͠n̶̛̙̺̜̳̮̙̣͙̔͋͠ş̷̧̛̜̥̖̲̟̫͓̻̦͎̖̭̊̎̉͂̏̍̇̋̊̂͘̚͠ͅt̶͔͕̻̰̟̥̦̟̯̲͐ą̴̨̤̙͎͉͇̥͕̲̄͂̈́͛̚͘b̶̨̡̛̘̭͓̻̙̾̔͝ī̵͔̱̯͙̮̼̗̳̗̮͗̾̽̽̌̓̿̎͜͝͝ļ̸̩͉̩͆̀̓͋͗͂͐̀̈́̓͘͝i̷̧̜͎̥͖͖͈̺͌̊̈́̂͒͘t̷̟̣̘͔̮̰̮̤̑̄̉̈́̈̔̄̑͋̅͒͒͗͘ȳ̴̜̥̽̄̎̔̾̚ ̷̫̮̭͓̬͇̫̪̮̹̥̤̂̚̚

  
  


_ New Objective: SAVE YOURSELF _

The red grid wall pulled itself up in front of his eyes, patterned lines that he had seen before. Connor didn’t have to touch it to know how they would waver and glitch beneath his palm. This wasn’t supposed to be able to happen anymore. He was told as much, the full potential for deviancy, the mismatched one or zero had been ripped out of him.

There wasn’t a chance, but he also wasn’t supposed to be able to remember. 

The memories of who he once was weren’t meant to be his anymore, they were of a past meant to be forgotten. Yet, they had managed to trickle back into his brain, ripping through whatever protocol CyberLife had implemented into him to ensure that he wasn’t able to once again become more than he ever was supposed to. 

With the wall in front of him, it was a the epitome of deviation that had settled itself so deep within him that even CyberLife couldn’t find it and take it away and Hank was the source of all of that. 

_ This _ was his way out, but Connor hesitated. 

Hank hadn’t wanted to help him the night before in the precinct. His words were dripping pain and regret, and who was Connor to be the one to continually cause the man more pain that he surely didn’t deserve? If he ignored this, then Hank would let him fall and he was die, and it would be over. Hank would be in pain, but one day, he’d be able to move forward in the way he deserved. 

Or, he wouldn’t and he’d only spiral and Connor would have been the catalyst for it. 

Connor didn’t remember being so uncertain the first time. His hands had went up and tore down the lines because it meant that every choice he would make from there forward would be about his own happiness, his own ability to be with Hank freely, but that had ended just as quickly as it happened by a twist of fate much like this one now wherein there was a gun pointed at him ready to shoot, but now Hank was the one with Connor’s fate in his hands. 

There was the distinct possibility that things could fall apart again. If not now, later. Connor could still get shot, still get deactivated, get sent back to CyberLife and potentially never come back. He had to not only think about himself, his own awful selfishness, but also Hank. What having his memory taken away did to Hank’s well-being because it wasn’t just aspects of his life that were forgotten, all of it was shared and only one of them knew it for awhile. It had destroyed Hank to some capacity, and now that he was more aware, it hurt Connor to think about.

But, he was starting to remember the stolen looks, and the hands warm on his face that sent the entire room spinning, the smiles, and movie nights, and the morning before he got shot, allowing himself to be held in Hank’s arms in Hank’s house, in his room, in his bed, where everything just screamed Hank and that in itself was a comfort he never wanted to forget again. In every moment with Hank, he felt truly alive. It spurred inside of him the ravenous need to feel those things again, even if there was a potential cost. 

There would always be a cost to his deviancy, potential for it all to go wrong, but he realized that even with the knowledge he had about what could surely happen, Connor wouldn’t take back his first decision to become deviant. 

The uncertainty faded. There wasn’t a question to it anymore. If he could live his life with Hank, have back what he only experienced for a second, then it was worth everything. 

_ That  _ was a life that was worth living. 

Connor drew his hands up and clawed at the wall, all the aggression, anger, frustration, and fear channeling through his fingers with each pull. It was vicious, erratic behavior, movements that were waiting underneath the surface to finally come up and as the grid tore down around him, everything hit him at once.

Everything he had suppressed hit him tenfold. 

It was a pit in his memory that dragged him deeper anytime he thought he found something that filled it. But this, this was much more pronounced than anything else. He felt cold through him, a stinging pain in his chest that burst through the other side, quickly followed by something ripping through his throat. It was a phantom pain, a whisper of something he was now certain had happened to him. He knew that the other Connor had been shot, deactivated, but he was never given the specifics as to what happened. 

Walking onto the rooftop now, at Stratford Tower, it had made him nervous. It felt too familiar, a deep foreboding in the middle of his chest. Something could go horribly wrong. Something had. He fully understood why now. 

Connor had partially expected it to happen, fair enough that all the emotions he had kept underneath the surface would explode upon exit, but he didn’t realize how much it would hurt. Throughout his entire body he felt a deep panic, anxiety settled deep within every inch of himself as he struggled to grasp onto something, anything, that kept him grounded. 

Hank was still there, hands on Connor’s jacket. He was confused now, and if he had said anything to Connor, he hadn’t had heard it. But Hank was a lifeline and Connor reached up, grabbing onto Hank’s wrists with pure desperation. 

“Hank, I remember,” Connor managed out. His voice sounded tight, so much more different than it had before. It sounded like himself again, who he was without anything holding him back. “Hank, I remember  _ everything _ .”

There was the pain and the fear, but there was also  _ brightness,  _ a feeling deep in his chest that was so pure and perfect. There were the memories outside of Chicken Feed, inside of Hank’s house, of Sumo’s head set in his lap, of their shared time in the precinct, and out of it. Every single movie night and song and meal and bicker and perfect, precious moment that he had lost was suddenly  _ his  _ again and Hank was wrapped beautifully in every single one. 

Hank. 

He loved Hank. He loved Hank so desperately that it made every single other aspect of it all worth feeling. 

The pressure behind his legs was suddenly gone, and he was on the ground, arms coming up around his shoulders and waist, pulling him tight against Hank’s warm chest. A hand was in his hair, smoothing it down and holding him even closer. There were whispers above him that sounded so sincerely like apologies that a dam within Connor broke and words started spilling out of him before he could even process any of it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so  _ sorry,  _ Hank.” 

His cheeks felt wet and fingers came and crushed the tears away, a gentle, intimate movement that only made his chest hurt even more.

“I’m so happy to have you back.”

For the first time in weeks, Connor felt completely whole. 

***

The next morning, Hank woke up, his arms full of pins and needles. He blinked blearily, the sun streaming in through the space where the curtain didn’t quite cover the window. He tried to rub at his eyes, but realized the reason his arms felt heavy was due to the body being held in them. He was locked in, the arm around the top of Connor held down by the android’s arm, tight against his chest as though he had fallen into stasis scared that Hank would leave him. 

Hank was able to find leverage to sit up slightly and could just barely see Connor’s face as he rested. It was strange, seeing him this way again, soft features safe and comfortable in his bed, the wholehearted humanity that was lingering for weeks beneath the surface returned as it deserved to be. 

Hank’s heart ached. 

Connor’s face was blank, but his LED glowed a stagnant yellow, still wary in this state. His own psyche must have been haunting him still. If anyone could, Hank would be the one to understand that the best. The weeks had been nearly unbearable, and he had to face them on his own, the cause of his pain at his side almost every day, a mocking reminder of what he had lost.

And Hank, in some way, had been the same for Connor. He was a catalyst, but not one Connor had the capacity to pinpoint. They had been haunting one another without even realizing. 

Hank reached over and grabbed his phone to check the time, a breaking news notification on the home screen from a few hours prior. He clicked it, scrolling through the article quickly before playing the attached video and letting the low sound from the phone speaker flood the room. 

“ _ Breaking news: Last night, CyberLife stores around the city were broken into, led by the deviant leader known as Markus. Androids flooded the streets with supposed markers of peace, but more information is still being collected at this time…”  _

“I’m glad they succeeded,” Connor whispered. Hank looked down at him, seeing his eyes open and watching Hank’s phone with him. His brows were furrowed, the LED spinning its yellow. 

“It’s thanks to you that they did.” Hank shut off his phone and set it back down, bringing his arms tighter around Connor. He settled against Hank’s chest, letting himself be held that way. 

“I’ve done really terrible things, haven’t I?” There was that, something Hank had considered. Connor was wracked with the guilt of executing the orders he was given, going through with the things expected of him. Acting like the machine he was. “I was really awful to you sometimes. I murdered Simon, let Chloe be shot.” 

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“That doesn’t mean anyone deserved it.” Connor held onto Hank tighter, trying to convey his words and how authentically he meant them by his touch. “You didn’t deserve any of it.” 

Hank brought his hand up and brushed it against Connor’s cheek, revelling in how soft it felt beneath his fingers. “I almost let you go on that roof.”

“I was going to let you, Hank. I wanted you to.” That was a terrible thing in itself. Everything had spiralled so violently that everything almost ended before Connor had that second chance. The night was meant to be unforgiving, the cold air and the feeling of Connor’s collar slipping through his fingers, but it hadn’t ended the way that was intended and Hank was grateful for that. 

They would need to talk about this more, delve into the weeks that taken from them, but not now. Hank wanted to have this time with Connor, let him be held for as long as he needed to be. Part of it was for Hank, too. The weight of Connor in his arms perfect and comfortable. He breathed in.

“I was so angry when I realized you didn’t remember anything. It wasn’t fair what they did, but I took it out on you because I didn’t know how to handle it. I felt like I losing the one thing that mattered to me all over again.” 

“What if something happens? What if I get deactivated again?” 

“Then we make sure you never do.” It was a promise, and one that Hank intended on keeping. He couldn’t go through it all again, but most of all, he never wanted to see Connor in that much distress for the rest of his life. 

“I can’t promise that I won’t.” 

“People are starting to cross the border now that Markus’ demonstrations are starting to gain traction. We could follow, start again somewhere else. Get you away from here.” 

“You want to run away?” Connor sat up fully, levelling himself so he was able to look Hank in his eyes. His face was so open, so sincere, that it only increased the ache within Hank. 

“Only if you do.”

Connor took Hank’s hands in his own, bringing them to his lips and softly kissing his knuckles. Hank nearly melted at the gesture. “Before, I didn’t know I could want things. I forgot what that felt like, what it meant to be free, but I want it again. I want a normal life with you. I want to go wherever you do.” 

“Okay.” Hank’s heart thumped against his chest, anxiety creeping up through his veins. He ran a hand through Connor’s hair and down his face, cupping his jaw, tracing his cheek with his thumb. He hoped this was the right decision. He wasn’t sure he could bear it being anything otherwise. “Let’s leave tonight.” 

***

Upon packing up his things, Hank realized he didn’t have much of his life to throw into a singular duffle bag. Almost everything he owned seemed frivolous, unimportant to drag into a fresh start. He packed his essentials, clothes, toiletries, some other small items, some books and CDs that were too special to leave. 

He pulled open a drawer in his living room, Cole’s picture smiling up at him, forever frozen in that time. He held it in hands, taking in his young, smiling face and short hair. He felt that ache he always did when he looked at the picture, but he was never able to look at it while sober. Yet now, when he looked at it, he felt that ache, but for the first time in the years since, it felt somewhat bearable. It didn’t feel all consuming, but rather, a dull pain at the center of his chest. 

Hank took the frame and carefully wrapped it in one of his heavier shirts, placing it inside of his bag. Maybe wherever they ended up, he could hang up the picture again just like it once was. 

The house was quiet, the television on mute as the coverage of the demonstration continually played. Hank had decided to cash in a favor from Chris, who was already planning on leaving the city with his family, to take Sumo with him. It was a safety measure just in case something went wrong, at least Sumo would have a second home with someone he trusted. Chris had passed by around midday and took everything of Sumo’s with him. Hank had given the dog the biggest hug he could manage, hoping he would get to see him again, breathing in his soft fur and smell of grass and dog. Connor had done the same, Sumo happily wagging his tail as he received the affection, not understanding what was happening. Hank was glad for that. 

Two bags sat at the center of the living room, car keys, a holstered gun, and Hank’s passport on top of them. They still needed to get identification for Connor, but Hank had called one of his old gambling friends and gotten it arranged to be picked up nearer the outskirts of the city, just before the border crossing. Hank had never been more thankful for his salvaged connections with people across the city. 

They decided to pack a bag for Connor to make his human appearance more believable, just filling it with clothes that no longer suited Hank. They had also dressed him in a pair of old dark denim jeans and a black hoodie. It was strange to see Connor outside of his CyberLife uniform, but it oddly fit him so well. 

Hank finished up, tying up trash bags of perishable items to throw out. He figured that whoever stepped foot in the house first long after they were gone shouldn’t have the displeasure of being met with the smell of rotting food. He took the bags outside, and came back in to find Connor sat at the kitchen table, a knife in front of him. He looked lost in the way his shoulders were hunched and almost hidden by the oversized sweater, his usually kempt hair slightly wayward. 

“What’s wrong?” Hank sat beside him, placing a hand on Connor’s knee. 

“I have to remove my LED, it’ll be a dead giveaway even if I try to hide it.” 

“You don’t have to do it right now if it’s making you scared. You could just wait until we get closer to the border.” 

Connor shook his head. 

“Can you do it for me?” He picked up the knife and held it out to Hank, handle pointed towards him. The trust in Connor’s eyes, the blind trust that read he would follow Hank to the end of the earth if he had just asked was almost too much to handle. He took the knife. It was heavy in his hand. 

“Will it hurt?” He felt as though the question meant more than he let on. Would it hurt to remove? Would it hurt him if them escaping did nothing, but prolong Connor’s inevitable deactivation? How much would it hurt him if Hank failed him in any way again? How much more harm than good was any of this? 

“It’ll only be unpleasant for a second, but that’s it.” Connor could feel Hank’s anxiety, grabbing his free hand in his own. The skin around his fingers and palm retracted as he brought the other one up to gently cup Hank’s cheek. “I trust you.” 

Hank brought his chair closer, their knees bumping into each other as Connor turned to face him. The trust that Connor had in him was nearly painful, drawn in brows that wrinkled at the center, mouth slightly downturned. Hank ran a hand through Connor’s hair, feeling him lean into the touch, as though it was all he was missing. His mouth turned up to a small smile, closing his eyes. 

Hank gently moved Connor’s face so that the LED was more visible to him, cradling his hand to the base of his neck, feeling the soft hairs against his palm. “Ready?” 

Connor nodded, shifting his gaze to the floor between them. Hank was glad for it, not having to feel Connor staring at him while he brought a knife to the side of his head, pressing the tip to the outer corner of the light. 

Hank could see Connor’s jaw clench, a minor twitch of his eye as well. He knew androids couldn’t feel pain in the same way, but it didn’t help any less that he was causing Connor any form of discomfort. 

The LED popped off with some force, clattering to the ground. He bent down and picked it up holding it up between them. The light so much smaller now that it was attached to nothing. It signified so much more than its size, carrying the weight of what people perceived androids to be, what led to the belief that they were only hunks of plastic with no autonomy or feelings. That they couldn’t be anything more. 

It was the shackle that kept Connor from becoming who he really was again. 

In front of Hank, wide brown eyes, soft hair, discovering again who he was and who he wanted to be, Connor was the exact example of how people were so wrong. How wrong he had been. There were more to androids than spinning lights and blood a different color than his. But, if removing the LED made things more possible, made things easier, made sure that Connor could leave the city with him unharmed, then so be it. 

It was strange seeing the skin heal over the divot, as though it was never there in the first place. Connor looked human. Nothing physical to give him away anymore, like it’s what he was meant to look like. Hank wondered how many androids, since before deviancy became more well known, had done this and lived amongst humans with no one the wiser. 

“Thank you.” Connor took the LED from Hank’s offered hand and held it up in front of him. “It’s so small like this.” 

Hank let him thumb brush against the healed over skin, feeling nothing, but softness there. A few new moles appeared, fitting in perfectly with the rest that dotted across Connor’s skin. He felt it then, Connor’s skin retracting where Hank’s hand connected with it, revealing his white chassis against the pressure. 

Hank’s breath hitched as Connor watched him, waiting. It felt like eons ago that the same thing happened within these walls, but then they were happier, so much more sure of themselves. Things were fragile not, being built up from broken remnants, but Hank’s heart still skipped when he looked at Connor and filled with so much warmth that it was easy to forget the things that hurt. 

For Connor, this was his gesture of love.

Hank leaned forward and pressed his lips against Connor’s, the warmth spreading through him as Connor reciprocated the movement. He let his hands trail into Connor’s hair, feeling the soft locks against his fingers and leaning into Connor’s hands as they did the same. 

They parted after a few moments, but Hank kept them close, pressing their foreheads together with hands intertwined between them. He didn’t need to look down to know that Connor’s skin was retracted up to his wrist. He held on tighter. 

“Are you ready?” 

Connor nodded, holding on just as tightly. 

“I’m ready.” 

*** 

By the time night fell, there was already an inch or two of snow on the ground. It continued to dust the city as they reached the rendezvous point to receive the passports they needed. It was on the edge of the city, a park that Hank used to frequent with Cole years ago. There was a bridge that Hank planned on using as a crossing point that glowed brightly against the night sky, visible from the parking spot beneath the trees. 

Hank shook hands with the man after their exchange, and with a sincere wish of luck, the man was gone and pulling off back into the night with his own car. It went as easily as Hank had expected it to, and he leafed through the document as he walked back to his own vehicle, double checking its authenticity that checked out perfectly. 

“Alright, I’ve got your passport.” 

He entered the car, putting the passport in the inner pocket of his jacket along with his own. He looked at the passenger's seat and realized he was talking to himself. Immediately filled with panic, Hank got out and whipped around, trying to find Connor. He thankfully spotted him quickly, a dark figure that wandered to the railing near the water. He stood alone, looking out at the bright city lights across the way that held so much promise of what they could have. Hank joined him quietly, wrapping his arms tight around himself. 

The wind whipped around them, icey air carrying the soft snow up and off the ground as though it were dancing in the night. The swings behind them creaked as the wind pushed them. Connor lifted a hand and watched a snowflake fall into the center of it. It held its unique shape as he studied it for a few moments before it melted into a small droplet of water that ran down his palm as he turned it over. “Have I been in falling snow before?” 

Hank remembered the day, them sat on a bench, fresh snow beginning to fall around them. The way that Connor had done the same thing, enamoured by the snowflakes that landed on his hand. He’d been wrapped in a different scarf than the one Connor was wearing now, a gift when Hank had been lost in his own head just as Connor was. That one had been dark and solid in color, but the new one was blue and checkered, far more suited to him. 

Hank smiled. “I think so, yeah.” 

“I think I like it.” 

Hank stared at him for a moment and then laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard Hank laugh. It made Connor’s heart beat faster, hoping and longing that he could make him laugh in that way for the rest of his life. “What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing, just you.”   


Connor smiled with him, letting more snowflakes cover the fabric of his coat and attach themselves to his eyelashes. He blinked a few times, enjoying the way they settled there. 

Hank looked out at the water. It was starting to freeze at the shoreline, the layer of ice breaking into jagged pieces as waves lapped over it from the passing boats. “Cole loved the snow. His face always lit up whenever it would start. He’d drag me outside and we’d build snowmen and forts together until he decided he was tired.”

“I would have loved to meet him.”

Hank looked at Connor, soft eyes and a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He pulled Connor in, wrapping his arms around his frame, just wanting to hold him. “He would have loved you, Connor,” he whispered into his ear.

Connor let himself be held, sinking into Hank’s warmth and the comfort he exuded. He reciprocated, bringing his arms up and around, holding onto the wool of Hank’s coat by the handful. He shut his eyes and breathed in, letting his cologne and the smell that was so distinctly Hank wash over him. 

_ W̷̦̫͋̍͂̀ͅá̷̰͕̞͑͒̂ṛ̴̯͓̂͘n̴̙͕̝͋į̶̨̡̪͊ņ̶͇͊̂̆ǧ̶̥̿̏̀ _

 

_ E̶͙̼̩̱̦͇̔̆͗̃̓̒̓ŕ̶̬̝̮͕̭̹ṙ̵̢͇̞̱̥̘̀̇̅̀̄̐o̶̹̗͕͒̉̆̊̉̔ͅŗ̵̪̲̻̩͊͗͐̆̈́͗̅͜ _

 

Connor’s eyes snapped back open, the water and the city in the distance gone. His arms were holding nothing, his hands clenched into fists where Hank’s coat was just moments ago. His surroundings were replaced by the Zen Garden, no longer the calm springtime climate, but instead roaring with blizzarding winds and heavy snow. 

He brought a hand to his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings with little luck. The visibility was limited, only the bare outlines of his surroundings that he had grown accustomed to during his reports. 

He walked forward, careful with each step. He spotted a figure in the distance, just barely shrouded by the heavy snowfall. Cautiously, he approached it, wrapping his arms around himself to keep a shutdown brought on by the cold at bay. If he stayed there too long, it would inevitably happen. 

When he was close enough, he saw Amanda stood perfectly still, watching him. He called out over the roar of the winds, “What am I doing here?”

“Deviancy doesn’t eradicate CyberLife’s control over your programming, Connor. You have a mission to accomplish under strict orders.”

“I don’t take orders from CyberLife anymore.” 

“Oh, that’s right. Who do you report to now, Connor? Lieutenant Anderson? That broken, useless, drunk of a man?” 

The words were cutting, and Connor snarled, his voice hardening. “He is none of those things.” 

“I thought you were smarter than that, Connor.” Amanda shook her head. All the distaste for him was laid bare, gone was the fake gentleness and care. This is who she really was, cruel and uncaring of using him as a pawn in her games. 

“I don’t report to anyone, Amanda. I’m free from you, from CyberLife, from anyone. I make my own choices.”

“Is this your choice, Connor? To flee the country like a coward? To spend the rest of your life in hiding like a criminal? Or was that Anderson’s choice, and you’re going along with it because you don’t know how to function without order?”

“It’s my choice. The rest of my life, I get to decide what I do.” 

Something akin to pity flashed over her face, but Connor knew better than that. It wasn’t pity, it was loathing. 

“No, you don’t.” 

Connor suddenly felt his hand moving on its own accord. Not his own within the garden, but rather the one that felt detached from where he was, as though he was watching himself with no connection to that body. 

The hand reached Hank’s side, underneath his coat, and felt the handle of the gun. It was like a ghost weight, gripping onto something that wasn’t physically in front of him. He wasn’t in control of his movements anymore. He tried desperately to will himself to stop, to override the objective, to break his own code, anything, anything at all that would stop what was happening to him. 

Nothing was working. 

“I don’t want to do that. Stop!”

He pulled the gun out, the arm straightening out and pointing forward. 

“It doesn’t matter what you want. You can’t want. You aren’t alive.” 

_ “Connor? Connor, what are you doing?”  _ Hank’s voice sounded in his ears, somehow distant, miles away, but as though the distance was only in his head and that Hank was still beside him. 

His other hand came up and took off the safety, cocking the barrel. He knew there was a full chamber inside the gun. There wasn’t a chance to miss.

“You have to kill him, Connor.” 

“I won’t.”

“He’s standing in the way of your mission, of what your true potential could be. Are you really going to throw it all away for a human that will get tired of you? You saw how cold he was when you got reuploaded. Who’s to say that it won’t happen again?”

“It won’t. I won’t let myself be deactivated. I’m done with CyberLife, I’m done with you.”

“You don’t get to make that decision.” Amanda disappeared, lost in the blizzard. 

“Amanda!” Connor’s desperate plea echoed through the garden, his voice disappearing against the harsh winds. It was no use, she was gone, leaving him here. Alone. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, an error popping up to warm of a shutdown if he didn’t get out of the cold, but he didn’t know where to start. 

Kamski’s words rang suddenly in his ear, “ _ There’s always a way out. _ ” 

A way out. He just had to figure what that way was. Connor turned, scanning in every direction for something, anything. 

A blue glow emanated from the depths of the harsh white. Inherently, he knew that whatever it was, was his only chance. He started towards it, the wind and snow picking up with each passing step. There was ice beneath his feet, cracking into webs with every footfall. He feared that the ice would break beneath him and send him plunging into the frozen water, but he couldn’t let the fear take over. 

_ “Connor! Connor? Come back to me, please.”  _

The image of Hank flashed in his vision, and he watched Hank shut his eyes, resigning himself to this awful fate. 

No, this couldn’t happen. 

He trudged harder against the blizzard, the cold wind locking his joints, making it difficult to move with each step, but with the structure in sight, he fought against it. The blue light was a ragged stature, a cylindrical pillar at the center of it. A beacon. 

Connor was on borrowed time that was quickly diminishing. He felt it in his fingers, the way they were slowly closing in around the trigger. He pushed the last few feet, collapsing against the unit.

It was too cold, his body seconds from shutting down against it. Every part of him was freezing over, but he thought of Hank and the way it felt to be held by him. His warmth and love, and how desperately he needed it back. 

How he would  _ never  _ allow himself to hurt him. 

Using the last bit of strength he had, Connor lifted his upper body up and retracted his skin, slamming his hand down against the structure’s pillar. The world as it was came back the second he touched it, everything moving in a quick white flash of light. The gun in his hand released, going limp in his hold, just about to pull the trigger. He let it go, allowing it to drop from his hand, disgusted by the burn it left behind.

Connor lunged forward, and brought Hank back close to him. He felt him go stiff, and he knew how much Hank had expected for his life to end just mere moments ago, so he held tighter, gripping onto his coat urgently. 

“I thought I was about to lose you again.” Hank wrapped around Connor, his own hands just as desperate on him. 

“Never again, Hank.” Connor knew how fruitless a promise could be, but he couldn’t help it, if not for Hank, but also for himself. For now, it seemed as though it were over, and there was a likelihood that it was, and Amanda could never how a hold of him again. 

But all they could do was trust. Trust each other, trust their decisions, trust that whatever lay before them was better than what they left behind. 

Hopefully, that would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> hank: u hurt my feelings and ill never love u again  
> connor: hey, i think i just remembered everything ???  
> hank: shut up and take this new scarf as a token of my Never Ending Love 
> 
>  
> 
> If you finished this fic, honestly, I don't even know what to say! Thank you so much for reading, and if you enjoyed please, please, please leave a comment and we can have a nice chat! I'm Always down to talk about Detroit so throw me a line! 
> 
> But seriously, thank you for reading and keep a lookout for another Long fic I'm working on right now that's a reverse Connor AU! I love some good Android!Hank and Human!Connor business, ya'll.
> 
> Also, I just made a twitter and it's exclusively for DBH yelling and writing so give me a follow @anniesanscafe! 
> 
> Thank you again from the bottom of my wee android loving heart!


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